


Super Friends

by RavenclawAngel



Series: Steve Rogers: Man out of Time and Place [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dimension Travel, Gen, Hurt Bruce Wayne, Hurt Clark Kent, Hurt/Comfort, Krypto - Freeform, Kryptonite, Protective Dick Grayson, Whump, Worried Clark Kent, Worried Dick Grayson, Worried Steve Rogers, justice league - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawAngel/pseuds/RavenclawAngel
Summary: The Justice League. That's what Clark calls them. Bruce has to fight not to roll his eyes every time he hears the name. They aren't a team, they are loosely associated acquaintances at best. But when Lex Luthor comes after Bruce Wayne and his business he might find that having allies isn't so bad.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Father-Son relationship - Relationship, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Series: Steve Rogers: Man out of Time and Place [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872217
Comments: 67
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back with the first chapter of my sequel to "New World, Same Old Problems." Before reading this I strongly recommend you read the first story so everything makes sense. Other than that, enjoy!

Steve cooks dinner as a squat gray cat winds his way between Steve’s legs. He deftly steps over the beast on the way to the table with a fond huff. The cat, Colonel Phillips, jumps on Steve’s lap demanding scratches between his ears as the front door opens. Bucky steps through smiling and, Steve notes, without an animal tucked under his arm.

“Good day at the shelter?” Steve asks. When Bucky first took the job at the Metropolis Animal Shelter, he had been reluctant; afraid of his own strength amongst such small helpless creatures. Steve, who remembered a young Bucky sneaking pieces of dinner away from the table to feed to stray animals, had no such misgivings.

“Yeah, we got the sweetest dog in today,” Bucky says fixing himself a plate of dinner while an orange cat watches from the counter.

“He was snarling up a storm when they first brought him in; we think he was abused,” Bucky says, “but I sat with him and by the time I left he was curled up in my lap, peaceful as a lamb.”

Steve looks up to find Bucky staring at him from across the table. It’s a look he knows well.

“No. We already have three cats, a bird, and two turtles. Our apartment doesn’t even allow dogs.”

“But Clark’s does.” Bucky points out. Steve bites back a grin. He even doesn’t question how Bucky knows that.

“Jimmy has a dog because of you, Lois has two cats because of you, and Perry has a parrot named Elvis because of you. Not everybody needs a pet.”

“I disagree. Everybody _does_ need a pet, especially Superman.” Bucky says as a black and white kitten claws her way up Bucky’s leg. Bucky scoops Peggy up and rests her on his shoulder.

“Clark has said no to every pet you’ve offered him.” Steve reminds him.

“Those weren’t right for him, but I have a good feeling about this dog.” Bucky says. Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t stop the warm feeling spreading across his chest. This is the Bucky Barnes he is used to, the boy he remembers from Mrs. Mitchell’s fourth grade class. He’ll gladly accept a dozen more cats into the apartment if it means he gets to keep this version of Bucky.

Not that Bucky doesn’t still have his bad days. Nightmares are a constant, and there are days where Bucky will only talk to the cats, a haunted look in his eyes. Those days are usually followed by double shifts at the shelter, until Bucky can look at Steve with a smile again. Still, being in a world without Hydra, without anyone knowing the name Winter Soldier or his trigger words, has done more for Bucky than a year of therapy.

Steve finishes his dinner, and scoots Colonel Phillips off his lap. The cat gives him a judgmental stare, not unlike his namesake, and jumps down.

“I’m heading out for the Justice League meeting. You want to come?” Steve asks. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Unlike you Steve when I said I was retiring from the superhero business I actually meant it.”

“Just checking,” Steve says.

“Say hello to the others, and tell Clark about the dog.” Bucky says, “We’re still trying to come up with a name for him.”

Steve waves him off with a laugh and a promise to mention it. Though privately he doubts even Bucky will be able to convince Clark to change his mind.

The Justice League is a very impressive name for what amounts to monthly ten minute rooftop meetings between Steve, Clark, and Bruce. Bruce refuses to even use the name, insisting that they are not a team and that these meetings are more like courtesy calls between colleagues than anything else. Clark, on the other hand, beams with pride every time the name gets mentioned. Steve’s quietly confident that they will eventually pester Bruce into using the name non-sarcastically.

Steve is the last to make it to the Daily Planet rooftop, where their meetings are usually held. Bruce is scowling impatiently beneath his cowl.

“I thought military men were always on time.” Clark says cheerfully.

“Retired military,” Steve says, “and there was a mugging on 5th Ave.”

“Now that we are all here, we can begin,” Bruce cuts in before Clark can ask for details.

“I know call this Justice League meeting to order.” Clark says. Steve can’t see Bruce’s eyes beneath his cowl, but he knows he’s rolling them. Bruce is tense; he always is at these meetings. Not even among allies does he let his guard down.

“The Falcone family has recently made moves to expand their crime operation,” Bruce reports, “they have sent out family members to Metropolis to scout it out. I suspect any attention from either of you should be enough to frighten them off.”

“I’ll take care of them. Bobby Bigmouth mentioned hearing something about Falcone’s nephew.” Clark says. Bruce gives a sharp nod.

“The quicker you take care of it the better. We don’t want them to get a foothold.”

“We won’t,” Steve promises, “Superman, what have you got for Batman?”

“We’ve been recently working to find out more about a group called Intergang. So far, they seem to be spread out across the nation. We haven’t heard of them being in Gotham yet, but I would keep an eye out for them.” Clark reports.

“I will. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that name.” Bruce says. Steve isn’t surprised he’s heard of them before. Most of their tips to him are about things he’s already been aware of for weeks. The way he has his pulse on Gotham and his fingers in every pie reminds Steve of Fury and his obsessive need to know everything.

“Now if that’s all you have, I need to get back to Gotham.”

Steve sighs. Bruce is always nothing but business. Even pleasant small talk is beyond him. He wonders what life must be like for Alfred, to have to live with the most anti-social billionaire playboy in history.  
“Actually it’s not.” Clark says, “I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but what’s this I hear about WayneTech and Luthor Corp. having a very public business standoff?”

“That has nothing to do with Batman.” Bruce says shortly.

“I know, but tell Bruce Wayne, that Luthor is dangerous.”

“Obviously he already knows that,” Bruce scoffs.

“Wait, I’m behind. What’s going on between WayneTech and Luthor Corp?” Steve asks.

“It’s nothing.” Bruce says shortly.

“Luthor is trying to buy out parts of WayneTech.” Clark says.

“Which I’m not letting him do.” Bruce says.

“But certain members of the board is being very public in their support for this potential buy out.” Clark explains, “Like I said, I know it’s none of my business, just watch out for Luthor.”

“Your concern is noted.” Bruce says, “Now if that is all, I will see you next month.”

Steve frowns. He knows that not everybody is a natural born team player like him and Clark, but he worries for Bruce. A part of him wants to order Bruce back and force him to come back to the apartment so he can meet the cats and they can have drinks. Anything to let Bruce know that him and Clark have his back, both when he’s Batman and Bruce Wayne. But Bruce would ignore him if he tried, so Steve remains silent.

“Okay, but if Bruce Wayne comes into Metropolis for this Luthor business he should have lunch at the little sandwich shop across the street from the Daily Planet. It’s delicious.” Clark says. Bruce doesn’t answer, but Steve swears he sees the barest hint of a smile.

“He never sticks around long, does he?” Clark sighs as he watches Bruce disappear into the night.

“Give him time. I really think he’s starting to warm up to us.” Steve says.

“Yeah, I gue—” Clark tilts his head, “Bank robbery on Broad Street.”

“Go handle it.” Steve says as Clark takes off. Steve watches him fly away before leaping to the next building towards home. He takes a meandering route, stopping another mugging and helping a drunk woman get home, before landing on his apartment roof. It’s a nice night. Steve lingers on the roof, enjoying the breeze for a bit. Contentment washes over him. He never thought a year ago that this place would feel so much like home. He slips into his bedroom window. The house is silent. He does a quick check to be safe and finds Bucky asleep, with one of the cats.

Steve heads back to his room and shoos the other cats off his bed before turning in for the night. As he drifts off, he concludes that tonight had been another successful meeting for the Justice League.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Bucky, and Clark engage in team bonding. Bruce most emphatically does not.

A week later, Clark knocks on the door of Steve and Bucky’s apartment. From inside he can hear the smoke alarm blaring, two cats howling, and the bird trying to break out of its cage. He doesn’t need x-ray vision to picture the chaos happening on the other side of the door. Instead, he knocks again and waits patiently for a response.

Bucky opens the door, glaring.

“What happened?” Clark asks.

“Steve tried to bake again.” Bucky grumbles, stepping to the side and letting Clark in.

“You know, back in the day cooking was easy, we just boiled everything.” Steve says poking his head out of the kitchen. Smoke billows out behind him.

“What did you try to make?” Clark asks. He breathes deeply and the only clue he gets is burnt chocolate.

“Brownies,” Steve says holding out a pan of crispy chocolate goo. Clark pokes one.

“How are they both burnt and undercooked at the same time?”

“It’s the stove. There are too many buttons. It’s not like the stove I’m used to.” Steve complains. He sets his disastrous attempt at cooking on the counter.

“It’s okay, you can share credit with me for bringing the pie.” Clark says. He holds up two apple crumble pies, fresh baked from Ma’s kitchen and still warm.

“Show off,” Steve grumbles good naturedly. As Steve works at opening windows and getting the rest of the smoke out of the kitchen, Bucky turns to look at Clark. There’s a calculating expression on his face.

“We got a new dog in the shelter last week,” He starts casually. From the kitchen Steve grins. That’s the voice Bucky used on Ma whenever he tried to break Steve out of his sickroom. It was just a shade too innocent to be believable but too charming to say no to all the same.

“That’s nice,” Clark says politely.

“He’s a real sweet boy, he just needs some training.”

Clark sighs, this is not the first time Bucky has tried to tempt him with a pet, “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just between The Daily Planet and Superman I don’t have time for a dog.”

“Besides, no dog could keep up with him on his morning jogs,” Steve adds with a laugh. Clark doesn’t disagree.

Steve jerks his head back towards the kitchen, “Now come on, let’s head out. We’re late.”

The three of them gather around the kitchen counter. Between the toaster and the microwave sits an innocuous looking black box. _Stark Industries_ is printed neatly along the bottom. To someone less informed, the box might be a waffle press or some equally useless kitchen utensil that was bought and then quickly forgotten about. To Steve, Bucky, and Clark the box is far more than an overpriced gadget.

Steve pushes a button and the room is bathed in a red glow. Clark feels his feet leave the floor. It almost feels like flying, except he’s not in control. He closes his eyes as he’s pulled between dimensions. When he opens them again he, Steve, and Bucky are standing in Tony Stark’s high tech kitchen.

“There you are. Finally.”

Clark looks up to see Natasha with her arms crossed, “hurry up, the pizza’s here and Thor has already eaten a full box.”

“Good to see you too,” Steve grins. Natasha uncrosses her arms enough to give him a brief side hug before slipping around him to get to Clark.

“I call dibs on the first piece, last month I didn’t get any,” she says taking the pie from his hands.

Tony pops his head in, “If that’s homemade pie, you have to share it. Also, hey guys. How’s Metropolis?”

“Pretty good. Things have been mercifully quiet lately.” Steve says.

“And how is your Super Friends project going?”

“Justice League,” Steve corrects, “and it’s going very well.”

Tony snorts, “The Avengers is a much cooler name.”

Clark huffs. That has been an ongoing debate between him and Tony since Clark had announced the project. Natasha cuts off his response as she hands him a piece of pie.

“Is Batman still actually showing up to your meetings?” She asks, “I have a bet going with Sam that he wouldn’t last longer than four meetings.”

“Then its Sam’s lucky day, because we just had our fifth meeting a few days ago.” Clark says proudly.

“When are we going to meet Batman anyway?” Tony asks, reaching for a piece of the pie. Natasha waves the knife threateningly until he retreats.

“We keep trying to invite him to things. He refuses to come.” Steve says.

“He’s not really the sociable sort.” Clark adds.

“I haven’t even met him yet.” Bucky says. Steve privately thinks that unless Bruce wants own a menagerie of stray cats, dogs, and birds, it’s probably a good thing. He can’t imagine Bruce being an animal loving sort.

“How are things going here?” Steve asks.

“Fine, we’ve had some minor hydra incidents but nothing we can’t handle,” Tony says. He steals himself a piece of the pie, “You’re former lawyer is insane though.”

“Mr. Murdock? What he do?” Steve asks.

“He and his partner Nelson are on a two man crusade to dismantle The Accords one clause at a time.” Tony says.

“He’s already gotten several repealed. Ross is furious.” Natasha says cheerfully. Steve beams at the news. Clark feels a spiteful stab of satisfaction. Anyone who annoys the heck out of Ross is okay in his book.

“That’s not the craziest part though.” Tony says, “Somehow, Murdock managed to convince his buddy Daredevil to start speaking out.”

“Really?” Steve says sounding intrigued, though his lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile. Or perhaps a smirk.

“Who’s Daredevil?” Clark asks.

“A weird vigilante ninja that hangs out in Hell’s Kitchen.” Tony says, “Nobody knows who he actually is though.”

Steve smirk becomes a little bit sharper. Clark tilts his head curiously.

“Daredevil is so anti-social he makes Batman look downright friendly,” Steve says, then turns back to Tony, “how has that been going?”

“Surprisingly well. The dude is still weird as hell and refuses to take off his mask, but he’s unexpectedly eloquent when he talks. Between him and Murdock people are really starting to change their stance on the accords.”

“Good. I hope he keeps up the good work.” Steve says. Natasha passes him a slice of pie, “Now let’s go share this with the rest of the gang.”

Under his orders Natasha, Bucky, Clark, and Tony troop out into the living room where there are multiple boxes of pizza and queued movie waiting for them. He can hear Thor’s booming voice as he and Clint argue over the last slice of anchovy pizza. A warm fuzzy feeling wraps itself around Steve. Metropolis is home, but here – surrounded by friends from both worlds – is home too. Steve has never felt so lucky.

Sam pokes his head in, “You coming Cap? We’re just about to start the movie.”

Steve tries to wipe the sappy smile off his face as he nods and follows Sam into the crowded, chaotic, perfect living room.

~*~*~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne sits at his computer in the Batcave ready for a long night of reviewing case files. His young ward, Dick Grayson, should be doing his homework nearby. Instead he’s on the sparring mat doing flips and bounding around with far too much energy for anyone to have. Bruce watches him do a backflip out of the corner of his eye.

“Can I go to the next Justice League meeting with you?” Dick asks suddenly. Bruce sighs, this has been a reoccurring question in the Wayne household these past few months. The answer is always the same.

“No.”

“Come on,” Dick complains, “why can’t I join your cool superhero club?”

“It’s not a club.” He says shortly. He’s trying to focus on a report about one of Joker’s earlier crimes involving a series of zodiac themed crimes when Dick’s voice breaks his concentration.

“How is it not a club? You have monthly meetings to discuss your mutual hobby. That sounds exactly like a club to me.”

“Crime fighting is not a hobby.” Bruce says, “and these are courtesy meetings to exchange pertinent information with my Metropolis counterparts.”

Dick does a cartwheel and lands just behind Bruce’s chair. He drapes his arms over it and Bruce notes that the boy has gone through another growth spurt. Dick is growing in leaps and bounds and Bruce can hardly keep up with how fast he’s outgrowing his clothes.

“Why do your courtesy meetings come with their own name then?” Dick asks, and even though his voice is beginning to crack and deepen it still retains its childlike impishness.

“Because Superman was semi-delusional after exposure to kryptonite gas when he thought of the name. I don’t know why The Captain went along with it.” Bruce huffs. He hears a chuckle from edge of the cave as Alfred comes forward with a tray. On which sits a cup of tea for Bruce and a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows and whip cream for Dick. As if the boy needs more sugar.

“I’m afraid you can’t pin the blame solely on Superman. Captain Rogers is also quite fond of the name.” He says. Dick’s eyes light up. Bruce pauses with his cup of tea halfway to his lips.

“How do you know what Captain Rogers thinks about the Justice League?”

“It was in his most recent letter, coded of course for security.” Alfred says primly.

“Holy Post Office! The Captain is your pen pal?” Dick asks excitedly. Bruce can practically feel him on the other side of the chair, vibrating with barely concealed glee. Alfred doesn’t look smug, he’s far too proper for that, but the corner of his lip does tilt upwards and his eyes flash with amusement. Bruce should be discouraging Alfred from engaging with Captain Rogers. Not that he suspects any ill intentions on the part of The Captain, but because every letter presents a security risk. However, one glance at Alfred and he can’t make the words come. Bruce has watched as over the years old army friends of Alfred have passed away one by one. He knows that Alfred misses the comradery that comes with serving in the war together. He can’t deny an old man one of his few simple pleasures.

“Oh yes,” Alfred says, “He and Sargent Barnes have been regaling me with stories of their war for the past few months now.”

“Sargent Barnes?” Dick asks.

“A friend of Captain Rogers.” Alfred says. Bruce has heard Captain Rogers talk of Sargent Barnes many times since the man came to live in Metropolis. At first Bruce had been hesitant about an ex-assassin joining his world, but Sargent Barnes seems to have truly left that life behind him. Besides, Bruce trusts Captain Rogers and Superman to keep an eye on such an obvious threat.

“Does he get to be in the Justice League too?” Dick asks. Bruce is positive he’s purposely trying to get under his skin. There’s a slight smirk playing on the corner of Dick’s mouth, that he’s making no effort to hide. Alfred, the traitor, is purposely aiding him, an amused twinkle dances in his eyes.

“No he doesn’t,” Bruce says, “Now go do your homework.”

He shoos his ward out of the cave and back to the mansion. Alfred follows behind, fielding a litany of questions about The Captain and Sargent Barnes from Dick. Alone in the batcave Bruce doesn’t bother to hide his smile as he turns his attention back to the computer screen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Justice League is crashed by a little bird bearing bad news.

Life at the Daily Planet is quiet, too quiet. Weeks have gone by and not even Lois has been able to sniff out a decent story. Clark offered to share the byline on the article he’s writing about the Luthor-Wayne business deal that is rumored to be in the works but she had been quick to turn it down. After two weeks of progressively snappish comments from a progressively frustrated Lois, Clark tries again.

“Come on Lois, the Wayne-Luthor situation is more interesting than you’re giving it credit for.” Clark says.

“I fail to see the appeal in a story about two rich men making themselves both richer.” Lois scoffs, “where’s the mystery? Where’s the scandal?”

“Bruce Wayne hasn’t appeared in public since shortly after the merger talks started happening, that’s a mysterious.” Clark says. Steve watches from his desk as Lois rolls her eyes.

“He’s probably partying on one of his private yachts, or in the company of one of his many lady friends. Hardly any mystery there.”

“I don’t think he’s as bad as the gossip mags make him out to be,” Clark shrugs, “I was thinking of even trying to get an interview with him.”

Lois laughs as she pours herself another cup of coffee, “Good luck. Bruce Wayne doesn’t accept interviews from anyone with an IQ over 100 or a bra size under D.”

Behind her Steve turns his laugh into a cough.

“Now if you excuse me I’m going do some investigating and dig up a real story.” Lois says.

Clark adjusts his glasses as he strolls over to Steve’s desk.

“So what do you think?” Clark asks, leaning over to get a better look at Steve’s drawing of Bill Clinton, “Do you think I have a chance with an interview with the infamous Mr. Wayne?”

Steve smirks, “I think you have a better chance of interviewing Batman to be honest.”

“We’ll see tonight.” Clark says quietly as he heads back to his desk.

That night, Steve stands atop the Daily Planet watching as the stars come out over the city. His shield fits comfortably in his hand and he paces along the edge of the building, waiting for Bruce and Clark. The next Justice League meeting is just about to begin.

Clark lands next to him, “Sorry I’m late. Where’s Batman?”

“Not here yet.” Steve says. His eyes scan the horizon, searching for any sign of their team member hiding in the shadows. Clark frowns.

“It’s not like him to be late.” Clark says. He scans the skyline too, seeing no swish of the familiar black cape.

“He does have to travel the furthest.” Steve says. Clark gives a shrug of acknowledgement, but hardly looks convinced.

They wait in companionable silence as the minutes tick by. An hour passes. Steve quietly misses the convenience of everyone being glued to their phones 24/7. A quick text would clear this matter up in minutes. A second hour passes. Clark tilts his head.

“There’s a plane on fire.”

“Go. I’ll wait around for a bit more before heading home.” Steve says.

Clark is nothing more than a red blur as he flies off. Steve watches him go. He resumes pacing. There’s nothing to worry about. Sometimes Gotham gets…chaotic. Or perhaps Bruce had finally gotten bored with the Justice League. Steve checks his watch, Bucky will be getting off his shift at the animal shelter soon. Maybe Steve will pick up a pizza his way home. He hasn’t eaten dinner yet, and he doubts Bucky has either.

Thoughts of eating are banished from his brain at the sight of something flipping across a nearby building. Like Bruce, the figure keeps to the shadows. Though, unlike Bruce who never moves a muscle more than necessary, this person flips and tumbles through the air with acrobatic like ease. The figure is tiny, lacking Bruce’s height and sheer mass. Steve watches curiously, shield ready, just in case. Whoever it is may be small, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be dangerous.

The figure runs and takes a flying leap. He lands on the Daily Planet rooftop, and rolls with his forward momentum before popping back up immediately. Steve tilts his head and studies the man – no teenager – in front of him. He’s wearing a yellow and red tunic with green bottoms. A domino mask covers his face. The teen spins to face Steve. From behind his mask, the boy’s eyes grow wide as he takes in Steve and his shield.

“Captain!” He says, “Hi…um…Sir.”

Steve stares at the boy as he straightens up, brushing dirt from his tunic self-consciously. Slowly Steve lowers his shield. The boy doesn’t appear to be a threat, but Steve remains cautious. There’s something foreboding about his presence.

“I’m Robin.” The boy, Robin, says proudly. Steve stares at him blankly.

“You know… Batman’s partner.” Robin says, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“Batman has a partner?” The words slip out before Steve can stop them.

“He didn’t even mention me?” Robin asks. His shoulders slump in disappointment. Steve grimaces. Robin rallies himself though, “Never mind, that’s not important. I’m here because Batman is in trouble.”

Steve tenses, “what kind of trouble?”

“Well…he’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“He came to Metropolis for a Business meeting with Luthor and never came back. I haven’t been able to contact him by _any_ of our emergency lines since.”

Worry is clear on Robin’s face, far too earnest to be faked. And Steve has heard Clark talk of Luthor too many times to consider him as anything but dangerous.

“Tell me everything.” Steve says slipping into role of The Captain. His voice is calm and confident and immediately Robin’s shoulders relax as relief washes over him.

“It was just supposed to be a boring normal meeting. No Batman stuff.” Robin says, “I spoke to him on the phone just before he went in for the meeting. He was supposed to be home in time for dinner but he never came back. Nobody has seen him since.” As Robin speaks his words get progressively faster, until they come out in a breathless heap.

“Do you know what the meeting was about?” Steve asks. Robin shrugs.

“WayneTech business stuff. Though the day after he went missing board members showed up trying to get paperwork. Alfred had a fit and threw them out, but he says they’ll be back.”

Steve hums thoughtfully. He wouldn’t put it past Luthor to take out a business rival, but he has a hard time believing that anyone could get the jump on Bruce.

There’s a soft thump besides Steve and out of the corner of his eye he watches Clark touch down.

“Hey, I saw you were still here on my way back is everything…” Clark trails off as he notices Robin, whose eyes have gone impossibly wide.

“Superman!” He says and it comes out as more of a squeak than anything else. Steve hides a smile as Robin practically vibrates with excitement, his eyes fixed on Superman’s famous S.

“Hello,” Clark says, glancing questioningly at Steve.

Steve decides to do them both a kindness.

“Superman, meet Robin. He’s Batman’s partner.” Steve says. Robin beams with pride as Clark’s eyebrows disappear under his hairline. He looks at Steve who shrugs.

“I’m sorry, what?” Clark asks. Robin’s smile flickers.

“I’m not lying, I am!”

Clark narrows his eyes as he studies Robin’s face. Under normal circumstances, Clark respects all heroes’ right to a secret identity, but with Bruce not here to confirm this alleged partnership Clark isn’t taking any chances. X-Ray vision allows him to see the young face behind the mask.

“Dick Grayson?”

Robin, Dick Grayson, starts guiltily. His hands come up to shield his face as he realizes what happened.

“No fair. You don’t use x-ray vision on Batman.”

Clark crosses his arms, frowning.

“Clark?” Steve asks, “Who is Dick Grayson?”

“Bruce’s ward. He took him in a few months before you showed up. It was all over the news.” Clark says.

Bruce is a father. Somehow that fact seems even more shocking than saying that Clark is an alien or that Steve is a super soldier from another dimension. Steve doesn’t have any memories of his own father, but from watching Clint with his own children he has a rough idea on how fathers are supposed to behave. He tries to imagine Bruce patiently explaining homework or playing catch in the yard, but can’t quite imagine it. Father doesn’t quite fit either of the personas Bruce has built up for himself.

“And Cap,” Clark adds, “The boy’s only 16.”

Steve gives Dick a once over. He’s small for his age, hardly bigger that Steve was when Steve was 16.

“What was Bruce thinking,” Clark huffs, “He’s too young to be out here, doing the type of things we do.”

Clark’s heart is in the right place, Steve knows, but Steve has met the Kent family. He’s aware that Clark has lived a very idyllic sheltered life. He just doesn’t realize just how much someone can grow up by the time they hit 16.

“Batman thinks I’m old enough.” Dick says squaring his shoulders. Clark gives him a look that clearly conveys his opinions on Bruce’s parenting skills. Neither willing to back down they both look to Steve as the tie breaker.

“I knew kids only a little older than him who signed up for the war,” Steve says, “Patrolling Gotham seems rather tame enough by comparison.”

“Those were different times,” Clark says, “and it wasn’t right then anyway.”

Steve sighs, he’s never understood the argument of “it was a different time” as if people from the 40s were really so different to the modern person. People of the 40s weren’t heartless beasts who carelessly tossed their children into the jaws of death. Nobody had wanted to send their sons, some not even out of school yet, to war. But there hadn’t been a choice. War had shown up on their doorstep and they had responded. Steve likes to think every generation would behave the same way when confronted with the Nazis.

“Listen, I was much younger than him when I was kicking around Brooklyn getting by jaw busted by every back alley bully. At least the kid has Batman watching his back.” Steve says and doesn’t miss the way Dick quietly sighs in relief. Recognizing an argument he’s not going to win, Clark lets the matter drop.

“Where is Batman anyway?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you; Batman went missing during a meeting with Luthor and I need help rescuing him.” Dick says.

Steve watches as the last of Clark’s misgivings die at the mention of Luthor. Dick gets Clark up to speed. The concern on his face only growing the more Dick speaks.

“And you’re sure nobody saw him leave Luthor’s property?” Clark asks, and Dick nods. He shifts from foot to foot, his whole body buzzing with nervous energy.

“I’ll fly by and take a look.” Clark says.

“Thank you,” Dick says. He looks at them with such hope that neither Clark nor Steve have the heart to tell him how unlikely it is that Bruce is still there.

Clark takes off, his cape flapping in the breeze. Fall is just beginning to break the heat of summer, and the cool air tickles his cheeks. It’s the kind of night that just beg to be enjoyed. Too bad Clark can’t appreciate it at the moment. Worry churns his stomach. He doesn’t want to think about Bruce in the hands of Luthor. Luthor has made no secret about considering WayneTech his biggest rival.

Luthor’s tower looms in the distance. Normally Clark gives it a wide berth, not seeing the sense in inviting trouble. Tonight though he circles it, carefully x-raying each floor. He’s annoyed, but not surprised to find that several rooms are lined with lead. He chews his lip. It’s possible that Bruce is trapped within one of those rooms, but how to check?

“Oh Superman.” A voice that makes Clark’s shoulders retreat to his ears calls his name. Clark looks up. Luthor stands on his top floor balcony, with a drink in his hand and a smirk on his lips. Embarrassment at being taken by surprise and anger at seeing Luthor looking so smug with Bruce missing makes Clark flush as he shoots up. He stops in front of Luthor, close enough that the man jerks his drink back, sloshing it on his sleeve. Clark schools his face into an innocent expression as Luthor glares.

“You wanted something?” Clark asks.

“I was just wondering why Metropolis’s star hero is hovering around my building. Don’t you have a kitten to rescue from a tree?”

Clark refuses to rise to the bait. Instead he crosses his arms and fixes Luthor with a hard stare.

“Bruce Wayne disappeared a few days ago. He was last seen entering your building.”

Luthor takes a sip of his overly expensive whiskey, looking perfectly polished as usual.

“And?” He asks blandly. He gives his whiskey another swirl, without even a glance in Clark’s direction.

“And I find it highly suspicious that a business rival disappears immediately after meeting with you.”

Luthor grins, showing off perfect teeth. It’s a shark smile, full of danger and just ready to bite. He sets down his drink. Next to his empty glass is a small lead box. He runs his fingers over it lightly, just enough to call Clark’s attention to it. Clark stiffens. He has suspected for a while that Luthor has been gathering kryptonite. He’s aware that it goes for quite a bit on the black market.

“Mr. Wayne has many business rivals,” Luthor says watching Clark closely, “and do you really think I would be so obvious as to kidnap someone during a meeting.”

There’s an undercurrent of humor in his voice that makes Clark want to dangle him over the ledge until he starts talking. He keeps his arms tucked close against him and heroically resists the urge. Luthor’s hand remains resting on the box.

“I’m going to find out what you did to Mr. Wayne, and then—”

“I did nothing to him, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t go around accusing prominent members of society of crimes,” Luthor sneers, “and until you have proof and a warrant, get out of my air space.”

Fuming, but left with no other choice, Clark flies off. Steve and Dick are still on the roof, waiting for him. Dick’s face spasms with quickly hidden disappointment when Clark lands, alone. Guilty, Clark reaches out to put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. It’s thin and bony beneath Clark’s hand; delicate like a robin wing. A reminder of how young and vulnerable Dick is, no matter what Steve and Bruce think.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find him,” Clark promises. He can see the hope burning brightly in Dick’s eyes as he nods. His expression still hasn’t lost its vague look of awe whenever Clark talks. Clark just hopes he can prove himself worthy of such a look.

Bells chime as the clock strikes midnight.

“Come on kid, I’ll fly you home,” Clark says. He reaches out and Dick allows Clark to wrap an arm around his waist. His frame is so slight beneath Clark’s grip. One wrong move could crush the lad. Clark takes off from the ground with extra care.

“Cap,” Clark says as he and Dick hover in the air, “we’ll talk tomorrow.”

At Steve’s nod, Clark shoots off to Gotham, with Dick shouting with surprise. Clark flies high enough that the city lights look like stars beneath them. It’s beautiful and Clark enjoys watching as the awe in Dick’s face goes towards something deserving of it. Per the boy’s instructions, Clark sets him down just inside the city limits. As he watches Dick slip away into the shadows. Clark can see in his movements all the ways Bruce has trained him. Clark sticks around Gotham until he’s sure Dick has made it back to Wayne Manor safely. Then he rises up and shoots off towards home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Bruce still missing Dick has to step up when shady board members come to visit.

Dick is still buzzing with the high of flying with _Superman_ , the next morning. He knows he shouldn’t be so easily impressed by anyone. His guardian after all, is Batman _._ But Batman, once you get to know him, is just Bruce; the man who helps him with history homework and gives the occasional advice on how to talk to girls.

Superman and The Captain are different. Last night they had stood like gods on watch from their rooftop perch overlooking the city. It was impossible not to look at them in awe. After they get Bruce back – and Dick doesn’t doubt for a moment that they will – Dick plans on convincing Bruce to let him go to the next Justice League meeting. He’s already preparing his arguments.

A knock resonates throughout the manor, startling Dick. He listens as Alfred opens the door and greets whoever is there. Creeping down the hall, He peaks over the banister to watch. Three men stand in the entryway and Dick recognizes them as board members that Bruce introduced him to at the last Wayne Foundation Gala. He can’t see Alfred’s face, but from the tension in his shoulders Dick can guess that Alfred isn’t happy to see them.

“Master Bruce isn’t home at the moment,” Alfred says primly and only those who know him well can hear the icy edge in his voice, “when he returns I will let him know you dropped by.”

“Mr. Wayne has not been seen almost a week, nor has he responded to any of our calls and emails,” a short balding man with a briefcase says. One of his companions, a tall man with a thin mustache attempts to push past Alfred.

“I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed in without Master Bruce’s approval.” Alfred says sidestepping him. Dick smirks.

The third man, a redhead with a perpetual sneer on his face, uses his moment of distraction to step inside.

“I’m sure Bruce won’t mind.” He says and Dick hates the way he calls him Bruce, as if they’re actually friends, “We’re just here to pick up some paperwork and then we’ll be on our way.”

The man ignores Alfred’s protests. Dick slides down the banister, hopping off with a flourish to land in front of the men as they make their way inside.

“You’re not allowed to be here.” Dick says crossing his arms. He tries to sound like Bruce; self-assured and intimidating. He doesn’t quite manage it as well as he hoped. The men pay him no more mind than they paid Alfred. Angry, Dick tries again.

“You need to leave.”

“We will, as soon as he get what we need.”

“No, now.” Dick says, “When Bruce isn’t here, I’m in charge.”

The short man chuckles, “We don’t take orders from Bruce Wayne’s charity case.”

Dick’s ears burn with embarrassment. This isn’t the first time he’s been called a charity case—the tabloids had been very fond of the phrase when Bruce had first taken him in—but it never fails to set him his teeth on edge. He knows Bruce cares for him, considers him more than just a charity case he took in for good press. Bruce never would have made him Robin if that’s all he was. Yet it still stings. It still hits him in just the right spot to antagonize the sliver of self-doubt he harbors regarding his and Bruce’s relationship.

Dick blocks their entrance to Bruce’s study, face flushed and hands on his hips.

“This charity case,” he sneers the phrase back at them, “says you aren’t welcomed here and you definitely aren’t welcomed in Bruce’s study.”

He dares the men to try anything. He’s been fighting criminals by Batman’s side for months now, he can take three old businessmen. As if hearing his thoughts Alfred steps behind the men, shaking his head over their shoulders. A silent reminder that Dick isn’t Robin right now. He’s Dick Grayson and Dick Grayson doesn’t fight. The men brush past him.

Bruce’s study is a sacred place. It’s where Bruce first revealed that he was Batman and where they’ve spent long hours together; Bruce at his desk working on Wayne Foundation paperwork and Dick on the chair doing his homework. Some of his happiest memories take place in this room. The men don’t care though, and they rifle through the desk, paging through Bruce’s private papers. They shove the ones they need into the briefcase.

One of them even picks up a framed picture of Bruce and Dick, taken only a few months after Bruce had first taken him in. They’re in the kitchen trying to cook something for Alfred’s birthday. Neither one of them are paying attention to the camera, though both are smiling. It’s Dick’s favorite picture of them together. The man smirks at it.

“Don’t touch that!” Dick snaps, swiping it away. The redheaded man looks up as if half surprised that Dick is still there.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” He asks, “Go practice your summersaults.”

In addition to “charity case” the tabloids had made a very big deal about Dick’s circus origins. Some of the more disreputable ones even going so far to imply certain things about Dick’s character and the risk he posed to Bruce’s many valuables. Bruce had been quick to shut those down rumors, but for months afterwards ladies at galas clutched their pearl studded purses a little closer whenever they noticed he was around.

Anger clouds Dick’s judgment and that’s the only excuse he can give for what he does next. He rips the briefcase from the short man’s hands and takes off. Dodging their outstretched hands is easy, and Dick bounds out of the room as they stumble clumsily after him. Alfred winks at him before pretending to be too busy dusting to notice his escape out the door.

On the grounds of Wayne Manor there are several places for Dick to tuck himself away. Always most comfortable in the air, Dick chooses the high branches of a centuries old oak tree. He swings through the branches with an easy grace. The familiar motion easing away the anger. He finds a sturdy branch and settles down. Popping open the briefcase, Dick curiously goes through the paperwork the men had.

It’s difficult to read through all the legalese but Dick gives it his best shot. His brow furrows with every flipped page. Luthor is buying WayneTech shares. He’s trying to buy Bruce out, but he can’t do that. Not without Bruce’s signature and Bruce would never give him that much power. Dick needs to take this to a lawyer, but the only lawyers he knows all work for WayneTech and given the board members behavior he’s not sure he can trust them. Nobody at WayneTech is above suspect at a moment. A slight self-conscious grin flits across his face. He sounds like Bruce.

There are only two people Dick can trust with this. He flips out of the tree, landing gracefully on his feet. He needs to get to Metropolis.

It’s Dick Grayson and not Robin who makes the trip. Dick decides against trying to sneak back in the mansion for his costume with the board members still there. On the train nobody pays attention to a teenager with an unusually fancy briefcase.

Dick knows both Steve and Clark’s addresses. Bruce made him memorize them in case of an emergency. And as much as Dick would like to see _Superman’s_ home, Steve lives closer to the train station. It’s just after two when Dick reaches the door to Steve’s apartment. He knocks. The door doesn’t open. He knocks again and then curses. It’s the middle of the day, of course Steve isn’t home. With a sigh Dick leans against the wall, resigned to waiting.

His wait is shorter than expected, however, as after only a half hour he hears footsteps approach. Dick straightens up, but it’s not Steve that rounds the corner, keys in hand. This man has brown hair that’s a bit too long and a metallic hand poking out of his long sleeved shirt. It takes only a moment for it to click.

“Holy Army!” Dick mutters, “Sergeant Barnes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise and his lips quirk at the use of his title as he surveys Dick.

“Friend of Alfred’s I assume?” He says as he unlocks the door. He holds it open for Dick.

“Sort of… I’m Dick Grayson.” He holds out his hand for Sergeant Barnes to shake. His metal hand is cold under Dick’s grasp.

“Bucky Barnes.”

Dick follows Bucky inside. Immediately a fat orange cat winds his way between Dick’s legs.

“Steve told me about Bruce. Sorry to hear it.” Bucky says picking up a gray cat that is begging for his attention.

“I’m going to get him back.” Dick says, “The Captain and Superman already promised to help. Bucky grins, a private look of amusement flashing in his eyes.

“Good on you. You made quite the impression in Steve and Clark.” Bucky says. Dick’s eyes grow wide. He’s not sure what is more amazing to him right now, the fact that he “made an impression” on The Captain and Superman or the casual way Bucky refers to them by their given names.

“So, what brings you to Metropolis?” Bucky asks and Dick holds up the briefcase.

“Board members of WayneTech showed up with a bunch of paperwork. They’re trying to sell the company to Luthor!”

“The same Luthor who is very likely holding Bruce captive.” Bucky says, his eyes are stormy as he reaches for the briefcase. Dick lets him have it and can’t help staring at the silver hand that moves so much like a real one and unlike any prosthetic Dick has ever seen. Alfred had told him that Bucky lost it in the war, but never went into detail how. Temptation to ask beckons, but Dick pushes it away. He doubts it’s a pleasant memory for the man in front of him.

A small frown appears on Bucky’s face as he reads through the documents.

“So, what do you think? They can’t get away with selling Bruce’s company without his permission, right?” Dick asks.

Bucky gives him a sad smile.

“Kid, I barely finished high school before they shipped me out. This,” he holds up one of the pages filled with tiny print, “requires a law degree to make any sort of sense.” 

“That’s what I thought too,” Dick admits, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face, “but I don’t know any lawyers I can trust.”

Bucky drums his silvery fingers absently on the briefcase. _Tap tap tap._

“Clark’s been in Metropolis a few years. He must know a lawyer or two. I’ll make sure he gets this,” Bucky as patting the briefcase.

“Good and then we can take down Luthor.” Dick says.

Bucky gives him look, “Not with just this we can’t.”

“Why not? It’s proof that Luthor’s up to something shady.”

Bucky laughs softly, “Luthor’s a businessman, they’re usually up to something shady.”

He shakes his head as he sets down the paperwork, “No, this won’t tell us where Bruce is. That will require a bit more investigation, but this is a good start kid.”

“Well, then let’s go investigate him.” Dick says. He jumps to his feet and looks expectantly at Bucky. He’s disappointed to see that Bucky doesn’t move. He tries to shake off the frustration squeezing his insides, doesn’t Bucky understand how important this is?

“It’s not that I don’t get where you’re coming from kid, but you can’t go in half baked. You need a plan if you’re going up against someone like Luthor.” Bucky says.

“We can figure out a plan on the way!” Dick says his voice slipping into a whine. He slams his mouth shut, embarrassed.

“You are so much like Steve,” Bucky says shaking his head. The admission momentarily distracts Dick, “Really?”

He straightens, a smile forming. He wonders what Bruce will say when Dick tells him that he’s just like The Captain.

“Wipe that smile off right now, that wasn’t a compliment,” Bucky scolds, “it took a literal world war for him to learn the value of having a plan, rather than rushing head first into every bit of trouble he ever came across.”

Dick has a hard time imagining The Captain ever rushing recklessly into a fight or being anything other than calm and collected, like he had been that night on the roof. His thoughts must show on his face because Bucky rolls his eyes.

“He was a hellion when he was younger and I’ll tell you all about it another time,” Bucky says, “for now, go back to Gotham, let Alfred know that Steve and Clark will look into it and keep an eye out for any more board members who might come poking around. If you see them, let us know.”

Reluctantly, Dick nods, “and you’ll make sure The Captain and Superman get the briefcase?”

“Promise.” Bucky says seriously and Dick believes him. His mission complete, he allows Bucky to walk him to the door.

“Thanks Sarge.” Dick says. Bucky’s eyes flash with surprise at the nickname. His face settles into the picture of amused interest as he watches Dick go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clark take a look at Dick's documents and come to a decision.

As soon as Dick is out of sight Bucky heads to the phone. He pages through the stack of incomprehensible legal papers as he listens to it ring. Jimmy picks up on the other end.

“Hey Jimmy, put Steve on the line,” Bucky says and waits patiently as Jimmy fights through the bullpen to get to Steve. Bucky likes Jimmy. He reminds Bucky of the kids he grew up with, the ones that could always be counted on for a pickup game of baseball and a few good stories.

“Bucky?”

“Hey, I just had an interesting houseguest drop by,” Bucky says casually. He doesn’t name names. He’s knows from experience that there’s no such thing as “too paranoid.”

“Really? A friend of ours?” Steve asks and only someone who knows him as well as Bucky catches the undercurrent of worry. A stab of fondness goes through Bucky. Only Steve could be worried for the safety of the Winter Soldier in a universe where Hydra doesn’t even pose a threat.

“Yeah, your _flighty_ friend from the other night.” Bucky says, and from the noise Steve makes he knows Steve got the message, “anyway I’m making pasta for dinner, you should invite Clark over.”

“Will do,” Steve promises. The phone clicks. Satisfied that the message has been passed along, Bucky surveys the room. Then he moves Peggy from his lap to his shoulder and gets to work. He shoves all the papers into the briefcase and heads to the kitchen. A glance at the clock tells him Steve and Clark have an hour of work left, though he expects them both at the apartment sooner. Steve is not known for his patience. Still, that’s plenty of time to through together his promised pasta dinner.

Steve had mentioned Batman’s sidekick to Bucky, but nothing Steve had said compared to meeting the lad himself. It’s been a long a time since Bucky has been around anything that excludes youthful enthusiasm the way Dick does, and even longer since Bucky has had that energy himself. If he ever even had it at all, the great depression and the war had done a lot to suck the youthfulness and enthusiasm right out of him. More than that though, Dick is clever and a bit stubborn. It’s no mystery Steve was immediately taken with him. Steve has always had a soft spot for people who are a bit to stubborn for their own good. Then again, Bucky thinks wryly, the same thing could be said for himself.

Steve and Clark burst through the door a full half hour before they are even supposed to leave work. Unsurprised, Bucky ignores them both as he stirs the sauce. Its jarred sauce, nothing like he used eat back in the 30s when his mom made everything from scratch. But it will do.

“Where’s Robin?” Steve asks looking around like he expects the boy to pop out from under the table.

“If he has any sense, he’ll have listened to me and gone back to Gotham to keep an eye on things,” Bucky says, “he left something for you guys though. It’s on the table.”

Steve and Clark over to the briefcase and examine the fine leather. Steve flicks it open as Bucky tries to dress up the bland sauce with some garlic.

“What is this?” Clark asks as he and Steve ruffle through the papers.

“Business negotiations between LexCorp and WayneTech.” Bucky said, “I think they might even been written in English, hard to tell with all the legalese they were using though.”

Steve and Clark waste no time, getting straight to work. Clark’s normally cheery face morphs into a look that Steve refers to as his “Investigation scowl” as he grabs the top portion of the papers. He reads with super speed flicking through the papers easily. He ends up flipping back to previous pages almost as often. His scowl deepens as he tries to make sense of the various clauses and subparagraphs. Steve reads his stack of documents slower. He rubs his hand through his hair, making a mess of it. A memory of a smaller Steve sitting in the school library with a similar expression and equally mussed hair makes its way through Bucky’s mind. Like Clark, the progress Steve seems to be making is minimal. For his part, Bucky is happy to let them slough through the paperwork as he plates the pasta.

“Eat.” Bucky commands setting down two plates. Steve does so out of force of habit. Bucky has been mother henning him since the 30s. Clark picks up his fork as well, his Kansas bred manners too strong for him to refuse a home cooked meal. Even one consisting of boxed pasta and jarred sauce.

The two move mechanically, bringing food to their mouths in between turns of the page. Bucky doubts either of them are even tasting what they’re eating. Halfway through the meal, Steve throws down his paper and rubs his eyes.

“Understanding the Sokovia Accords was easier than this.” He grumbles.

“That’s because Ross has all the subtly as a rock,” Bucky says as Steve picks the paper back up.

“Most of this paragraph isn’t even saying anything. It’s just continually referencing other clauses.”

“Lawyers.” Bucky scoffs as he piles more food onto Steve and Clarks plates. Clark has not looked up from his papers since he started reading. He does manage to mumble a polite thank you as he flips the page. Bucky grabs his own plate and eats slowly, watching the two of them for any hint that Dick’s stolen papers were useful. He hopes they are. The lad will be so disappointed if they aren’t.

“Hey! I think I found something.” Clark says and then frowns, “Luthor wants to buy kryptonite from WayneTech. Wait, why does Bruce have so much kryptonite?”

There’s a tinge of hurt in Clark’s voice. Steve claps on his shoulder.

“Probably to keep it out of the hands of people like Luthor.”

Clark nods, accepting this explanation. Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he’s skeptical that it’s the only reason Bruce would buy up so much kryptonite. He’s not typically one for cynicism and he’s never even met the man, but based on some of the things Steve and Clark has said about him Bruce is the living embodiment of “can never be too paranoid.” Not that Bucky disagrees with that mentality. It’s exactly that type of thinking that has kept him out of Hydra’s hands for so long. Still, he wouldn’t put it past Bruce to have his own stock of kryptonite, just in case. Reluctantly, Bucky can see where Bruce is coming from. Clark’s a swell guy, but Bucky likes to think that he was a pretty good guy too back in the day and that didn’t stop him from becoming the Winter Soldier. Anybody can break in the hands of a madman, even Superman. Maybe having a few pieces of kryptonite lying around, in good hands, isn’t the worst idea in the world.

“See anything else Luthor is looking to get from Bruce’s company?” Steve asks, further distracting Clark from the kryptonite purchases and pulling Bucky from his thoughts.

“Stock mostly,” Clark says, “some property, steroids? Why is WayneTech patenting experimental steroids?”

“Better question, why does Luthor want it?” Steve asks. Clark looks up at him frowning.

“Luthor trying to start a crooked baseball team?” He suggests.

“Or his own super soldier program.” Steve says darkly. Many countries had tried forming their own super soldier program after the war. Results ranged from slightly stronger than average soldiers to accidentally creating the hulk. It’s a dangerous game, one that was barely justified by the desperation of World War Two. Now however, in the relative peace of modern day, it’s not something that anyone, let alone someone like Luthor, should ever be playing around with.

“We need a lawyer to look over this. Who knows what details we’re overlooking,” Steve says, “something in here might even give us a lead on where Luthor might want to keep Bruce.”

Clark snorts, his tone unusually cynic, “Good luck.”

“What, does Metropolis not have lawyers?” Steve asks.

“Not good ones,” Clark says, “the only decent lawyer I’ve ever met moved out of Metropolis last year.”

Steve frowns, thinking. Coming to a decision he stands up, “Well then I guess it’s a good thing that I happen to know a great lawyer.”

Bucky and Clark frown at each other as Steve walks out of the room. They can hear him shuffling around in his bedroom for a few minutes before he comes back with a baseball cap low over his head and pair of oversized sunglasses on his face. He’s also wearing a bulky sweater that hides his muscles in a way his usual attire never does.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, as Steve tosses him a hat as well.

“Going to talk to my lawyer of course.” Steve says. Bucky’s brow furrows as things click into place.

“You want to go see Murdock?” He asks, though it’s not really question. Steve nods, clearly pleased with himself.

“And the best part is that we know he’s clean. Luthor can’t bribe a lawyer he doesn’t know exists,” Steve says, and then adds thoughtfully, “Not that Murdock is bribable.”

Bucky looks down at the cap in his hands. It’s a faded nondescript blue, the same sort of cap that he wore when he was on the run. He feels a shiver go through him at the memory. Since moving to Metropolis he’s only been back to New York City a handful of times and not once has he stepped foot outside the safety of Tony’s tower. To his knowledge nobody outside of the Avengers even know that he and Steve make these legally ambiguous trips, and that’s exactly how he’d like to keep it. Coming to Metropolis has been a gift, a second chance that he never thought he would get it. He has no interest in risking that by running around New York City far from the security of the tower. Bucky hands the hat to Clark.

“You two go ahead, I’ll clean up from dinner.”

Steve falters, halfway to the portal, and gives Bucky a questioning look.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You don’t need the Winter Soldier wandering around New York.” Bucky shrugs, giving him a self-deprecating smile.

“Bucky.” Steve chides gently. Bucky’s smile turns apologetic. He knows how much Steve hates it when he refers to himself by that name. Still he doesn’t back down.

“Seriously, I’ll be fine here with the cats.” Bucky insists, “It doesn’t take three people to talk to a lawyer.”

Steve nods, “We’ll be back soon.”

“Say hello to Murdock for me.” Bucky says. Steve gives him a small smile, though the worry still lingers in the corner of his eyes as he taps a few buttons. He and Clark disappear in a swirl of red light. Bucky lets the smile drop. Its better he stay here. It’s safer for everyone, no matter how much he knows it kills Steve to admit it. Bucky is a liability in any world hydra exists. Colonel Philips brushes against his leg and he scoops him up.

“Come on. Help me clean up.” He says.

Meanwhile Steve and Clark appear in Tony’s kitchen. He hasn’t visited the tower since before Bruce went missing and in a way it amazes him how nothing has changed. How this world chugs along, oblivious that in another world a city is missing its hero. The cool robotic voice of Friday greets them and Steve tells her hello. Tony is in his lab and Steve tells her not to bother disturbing him as he and Clark are heading out into the city. Friday wishes them luck. Steve smiles at the ceiling. He likes Friday and appreciates her unique personality. Yet, a small part of him still misses Jarvis’s soothing and occasionally snarky presence. It’s a shame that Alfred and Jarvis have never met. He suspects that they would have gotten along swimmingly.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Steve says and for the first time in a long time, Steve leaves the tower, and sets off into his city.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clark have a consultation with Steve's favorite law firm. Matt and Foggy get a new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting. This Sunday really got away from me!

New York City has a feel all its own. No other city in this world or his new world has ever managed to replicate it. Taxi horns beep just a little louder and people talk just a little faster as they strut along the crowded sidewalks. Steve breathes in deeply, taking in the smell car exhaust and a million different food joints. He starts walking, Clark following behind with his eyes on the many skyscrapers. Far more than even Metropolis has.

Steve leads Clark through Time Square, enjoying the way Clark’s eyes light up like all the rest of the tourists when he sees it, before hopping on the subway that will take them into Hell’s Kitchen. There’s a grittiness to Hell’s Kitchen that not even their resident vigilante can fully brush away. New Yorkers are tough, but those in the kitchen are the toughest, and they don’t let anyone forget it. Someday Steve would like to bring Bruce here just to get his opinion on Hell’s Kitchen compared to Gotham. He thinks Bruce would appreciate the similarities.

Nelson and Murdock are in the same small building they were in when Steve hired them. A grin flits across his face as he remembers the first time he stepped through these doors. Nelson and Murdock are a force to be reckoned with, especially when governmental injustice is afoot. Inside, their secretary, Karen, looks up. Her pen clatters to the floor.

“Captain Rogers!” Her eyes dart from Steve to Clark to the closed office door, “Matt said…I mean…How are you here?”

She flushes and opens her mouth, perhaps to take back what she said. Steve gives her a reassuring smile.

“A bit of a long story, is Mr. Murdock available?”

“Right here,” Matt says, stepping out of his office as if he had been waiting for his cue. His white cane taps as he moves forward, his head cocked as it usually is. There’s a frown on his face that only gets deeper.

“Captain Rogers, I didn’t expect to hear your voice ever again,” Matt says.

“I’m hard to get rid of.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that, who’s your friend?”

Clark starts at the acknowledgement. Steve’s eyes slide between Matt and Clark. A sneaking suspicion tells him that Matt has known of Clark’s presence the moment they stepped through the door. Matt is good about things like that.

“Clark Kent,” Steve says and then adds, “He’s a reporter.”

He’s curious to see how Matt will react. Matt’s face twitches, as if trying to synthesize the new piece of information with what his senses are telling him.

“Oh really?” His voice is neutral. Confusion grows on Clark’s face as it becomes clear to him that he is missing out on something. Still, he puts his best foot forward.

“Mr. Murdock, Steve has spoken very highly of you as a lawyer,” Clark says, “and unfortunately we are in need of one.”

“Come into my office.” Matt says. The office is small with hardly enough rooms for the desk and three chairs in it. The lights are off, but Matt switches them on as he passes. Steve enters last, shutting the doors behind him.

“Alright, cards on the table,” Matt says as soon as everyone is settled comfortably, “I assume this is about The Accords?”

“No,” Steve says. Matt raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve come back and brought a metahuman with you, and it isn’t about The Accords?” Matt asks skeptically.

“Metahuman?” Clark asks.

“How do you know Clark’s not a normal human?” Steve asks. He’s greeted with silence.

“Come on, cards on the table for all of us. I’ve suspected you’re more than just an average lawyer for a while,” Steve presses. Matt presses his lips into a fine line and bows his head. He seems to be thinking very deeply about something or listening to something only he can hear.

“You go first,” Matt finally says. His voice is quiet. Steve accepts this as fair. He is once again calling on Matt’s services; it’s not nice to pry when someone is doing you a favor. Steve talks about his new home in Metropolis. He mentions his new world’s own unique brand of heroes without going into detail. Those secrets aren’t his to tell. More importantly though, he talks about Lex Luthor.

Steve is pleased to see Matt’s scowl steadily deepen as Steve goes into detail about Luthor’s hatred of heroes and multiple shady business deals. Of all the lawyers Steve has ever met, only Matt shares his uncynical belief in the very concept justice. It’s why out of all the lawyers who offered to represent Captain America, Matt was the only one he considered.

“We could really use your help,” Steve finishes, setting the briefcase down on the desk.

“And they don’t have lawyers in Metropolis?” Matt asks sliding the briefcase closer towards himself.

“None that we could trust not to be bought out by Luthor.”

“That’s an unfortunate indictment of the justice system,” Matt says sourly.

“True, but they haven’t booted me off their world yet,” Steve says, “So will you help?”

“I’ll have to bring Foggy in on this, unless Luthor conveniently has copies in braille.” Matt says.

“That’s fine. If he’s your partner I trust him.” Steve says.

Matt holds out his hand and Steve gives it a solid shake.

“Now, is it normal for humans on Earth-B to have heart rates of 400 beats per minute, because that would probably kill the average human here,” Matt says. Steve snorts as Clark stutters.

“How did you know that?”

“You go first.” Matt says. Steve leans back in his chair so he can get a good look on both their faces. He’s not sure which face is funnier; Matt’s at meeting an alien or Clark’s at meeting someone who has supersenses better than his own. Contentment washes over Steve as he listens to Clark and Matt comment on the smell of coffee from the café three blocks away.

Clark marvels at Matt’s carefully hones senses, so like his own. The way Matt paints a picture of his surroundings without ever seeing it is inspiring. Clark closes his eyes and tries to let his supersenses show him his environment. He hears the traffic, the conversations from blocks away. He smells food from hundreds of different restaurants and various perfumes and colognes. It’s all jumbled together, a cacophony of sensory input that means nothing without sight to fill in the blanks for him. He can’t imagine trying to process all that while also fighting crime. There’s a brief stab of disappointment that he won’t get the chance to witness Matt in action. He’s distracted from his thoughts by Matt who begins to describe someone two blocks away. 

“Listen, do you hear the man humming? He’s carry carrying an onion bagel and his heart rate is just a little fast.” Matt says. 

“Is he the one who keeps stopping to talk to everyone?” Clark asks. Matt nods. Steve hears nothing but the sounds of traffic.

“That’s Foggy.” Matt says, “My law partner.”

A few minutes later even Steve hears the click of the door and catches the last few notes of whatever song Foggy has been humming. A mischievous grin on his face, Matt stands up and pokes his head out of his office.

“Hey Fog, we have a case.”

“Really, like with actual paying clients?”

Steve can hear the hope in his voice. He takes a quick glance around the cramped office with cracked walls and flickering lights and doesn’t blame him.

“No, but it’s definitely the most interesting case we’ve ever taken.”

“Matt, do you understand how being a lawyer works? We are supposed to occasionally get paid, that’s how we afford to pay our rent.”

“Mr. Murdock, we don’t mind paying.” Steve says.

Matt scoffs at him, “don’t worry. We’ve got enough to make rent, we’re fine.”

Foggy comes to stand in the doorway of the office, “Matt, have you stooped to telling paying clients _not_ to pay us?”

He sounds tired, but fond, like Bucky used to sound after dragging Steve away from yet another fight he was never going to win. Steve likes Foggy.

Matt gives Foggy and impish grin and introduces their new clients. Foggy is speechless for all of four seconds, then he has questions, a lot of questions. He interrogates them, like the Columbia law grad that he is. Poking at their story from every angle, testing it for holes. Steve regrets that he will never have the opportunity to see Matt and Foggy in a courtroom; he imagines they would run verbal circles around any big city lawyer Luthor could ever come up with.

It’s only when Foggy has questioned them to the point of exhaustion does he accept their story as true. The switch from lawyer to enthusiastic fan happens in an instant. The hard suspicious look drops from his face and he eagerly shakes Steve’s hand. Steve reiterates his offer to pay them for their services. Foggy looks scandalized.

“I wouldn’t dream of it Cap.” Foggy insists.

“We really do have money,” Clark insists.

“I don’t know if money from another dimensional world is legal tender here.” Foggy points out.

“They still have an America and a presumably a treasury. I see no reason their money can’t be considered real.” Matt counters.

“Just because they have a place that calls themselves the United States, that doesn’t mean our United States recognizes them or their money,” Foggy says, “If I call our office the USA and start printing money it’s still forgery.”

“Then I guess the legal question becomes whether United States of other worlds could be legally considered the same entity as this United States.”

“Which I argue that they can’t be. Different events will shape them into different countries albeit with the same name.” Foggy says. Clark and Steve’s eyes flicker back and forth as Matt and Foggy debate the merits of interdimensional counterfeiting. Steve isn’t exactly sure who wins the argument, only that both are in agreement that they don’t want his money.

Confident that the briefcase is in good hands, Steve thanks them both again for their help. He also privately vows to convince Tony to hire Matt and Foggy to do some patent work, so he can pay them the obscene amount of money they deserve. 

“You can contact us via Tony Stark.” Steve says as he waves goodbye.

Clark and Steve head back to Stark tower. Tony pops his head out of lab, no doubt warned of their approach by Friday.

“Answer a question for me Cap,” Tony says, “How is it even possible to get into such legal trouble that you have to cross dimensions to find a lawyer that will help?”

“I just needed him to take a look at something for me,” Steve says.

“As opposed to one of the many lawyers I’m sure exists in Metropolis?”

Steve shrugs, “what can I say, I only work with the best.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow at them both.

“Sure. But seriously, who did you piss off and do you need back up?”

“Nobody and no. Trust me, this is a job for a lawyer not the Avengers.” Steve says.

Tony gives them both a searching look before nodding, “alright, but if that changes you know we still owe you one for that Thanos debacle from last year.”

“I know,” Steve says sincerely. Satisfied, Tony disappears back into his lab. Steve and Clark return home with a push of a button where Bucky is waiting for them.

“How did it go?”

“Good, Murdock & Nelson Law is on the case.” Steve says, he looks at the clock, “and there should still be time for us to do some investigating tonight.”

“Good,” Clark says, “let me fly by Gotham and update Dick first. He’ll want to be kept in the loop.”

At Steve’s nod Clark takes off, rising into the sky and leaving the twinkling lights of Metropolis behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark checks up on The Boy Wonder and then it's time to get down to business for what's left of The Justice League.

Superman flies to Gotham city, touching down a few miles away from Wayne Manor. Ducking behind into an alleyway, he lets Clark Kent step out. He fixes his glasses and starts walking. There’s a stately presence to the manor, far grander than what Clark is used to back in Smallville. Even Metropolis lacks the old money opulence that the manor exudes.

He knocks on the door and waits patiently on the imposing stoop. A thin old man, who towers over even Clark, opens the door.

“Hello,” Clark says, “You must be Alfred.”

“Mr. Kent, come in.” Alfred says, stepping to the side. Clark wonders how much Bruce has spoken of him and Steve to his butler. From the calculating stare he receives, he guesses it’s a lot. He fidgets, resisting the urge to play with his glasses under the man’s sharp gaze.

Distracted, he almost doesn’t hear the near silent footsteps coming down the stairs. Batman has trained his apprentice well in the art of stealth.

“Any news?” Dick asks, lightly leaping over the last few steps.

“We brought the paperwork to a lawyer friend of Steve’s. Good work in getting it to us.” Clark says and Dick beams under the praise.

“We’re going out tonight to check out more of Luthor’s properties, see if we can find a lead.”

“Great! Let me go grab my costume.” Dick says and practically flies off. Clark catches him by the arm.

“Not you.” Clark says, “You stay here.”

Clark knows that Steve considers Dick old enough, but Steve also considers boiled cabbage a good meal, so Clark knows his judgment isn’t perfect.

Dick’s face immediately crumples, “you can’t go without me.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark says, and he means it. He knows how frustrating it can be to wait on the sidelines. Still, he’s remains firm. He’s not going to let Dick risk his life, “but no.”

Dick plants his feet and sticks out his chin, “The Captain thinks I’m old enough.”

Despite the situation, Clark feels his lips twitch. The kid’s brave, he’ll give him that. Not many try to argue with the man of steel. Then again, he would expect nothing less from a boy being raised by Batman.

“And how would we explain Robin showing up in Metropolis without Batman?” Clark asks.

“Um…” Dick trails off, trying to come up with a justifiable reason for Robin to be teaming up with Superman and The Captain. He draws up blank, but pushes on anyways with a stubborn set in his jaw.

“You can’t ask me to do nothing! You have to let me come.”

Dick hates the fact that he only comes up to Superman’s shoulder; that he has to look up to look him in the eye. It makes him feel small; useless, like a little kid. He feels like one, begging like this. Bruce wouldn’t beg. He would tell Superman that’s he’s coming and that would be that. Dick isn’t Bruce though. He hasn’t managed to capture his authoritative nature. Frustration courses through him.

“You’re not doing nothing; you’re maintaining your cover.” Clark says.

Dick scowls, “that’s basically the same thing.”

“I promise we’ll keep you updated every step of the way.”

Dick stomps his foot, not caring if it makes him look childish. Superman doesn’t understand, nobody does. He already lost one father; he can’t lose another one.

“What if it was your dad missing? Huh? Would you wait around for someone else to save him?” Dick snaps. His chest tightens. He should be doing something. Bruce _needs_ him and Dick’s letting him down. Just let he let his actual parents down. Images of a big top with sparkling lights and two broken bodies flash in front of his eyes. He couldn’t save them. And now he can’t save Bruce. His breathing picks up as tears prick his eyes. He’s crying in front of Superman. His face flushes with humiliation.

“Hey, breathe.”

Superman is kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Dick takes a few shaky breaths.

“You’re right.” Clark says, “If it was Pa missing, I’d be tearing up the city looking for him.”

Clark sighs, running a hand through his windswept hair. It’s a very human gesture and one Dick hadn’t expected from the alien in front of him.

“I know what I’m asking you to do isn’t fair, and you have every right to be steaming mad about it, but you have to think about what Bruce would want.” Clark says, “What would he tell you to do if he were here right now?”

Dick bites his lip as he gives the question serious consideration. What would Bruce want? First, he’d probably want Dick to stop embarrassing himself in front of Superman. Then, as much as Dick hates to admit it, Bruce would want him to lay low. Keeping their identities a secret is priority number one and Robin appearing anywhere without Batman would raise questions, just like Clark had said. It’s a disheartening realization. Clark must read his expression because he gives Dick’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“I can’t lose him.”

The admission slips out so quietly that someone without superhearing would have missed it.

“We’re not going to let that happen.” Clark promises. It’s a promise he knows he shouldn’t make. Bruce could be already dead for all they know. But he doesn’t take the promise back either. He pulls Dick into a hug. As if a hug will protect him from the pain and potential heartbreak waiting for him. For his part, Dick melts into him, having no shame in clinging to Clark as tightly as he can.

Clark leaves with a promise to call Dick as soon the moment he’s back from the mission, even if he doesn’t find anything. Dick accepts his words with a shaky nod. Again Clark is hit with how young Dick is and the enormous weight that must rest on the boy’s thin shoulders. His heart aches for Dick. Alfred solemnly escorts him out. Now that he’s looking closer Clark can see that pain and exhaustion also cloak the man, but he never slips from his role of dignified butler.

At the door Alfred stops Clark. Lightly touching his arm.

“Find him.”

Clark doesn’t hesitate to make another promise.

“I won’t stop looking until I do.”

Clark flies off, away from the dim and foggy Gotham, which looks even grimmer than usual without its dark knight watching over it, and towards the bright and shining Metropolis. Somewhere under all that polish and shine Clark hopes to find his teammate and friend.

He lands on the familiar roof of the Daily Planet. Steve is already waiting for him, shield in hand. Next to him, Clark is surprised to see Bucky, clad all in black. Bucky gives him a nod.

“Steve said it was all hands on deck.” Bucky says reading the curiosity in Clark’s eyes, “so I’m coming out of retirement this one time.”

“Thank you,” Clark says sincerely. He’s never seen Bucky fight before. In the chaos of the battle against Thanos he had barely been able to keep track of Steve, much less anyone else. He’s heard things though, about what Bucky can do…and what the Winter Soldier can do. It’s a little unnerving when Clark thinks about it. The mild mannered man in front of him who spends his days trying to convince people to adopt pets is one the deadliest assassins in the world. Clark tries not to dwell on those thoughts. Bucky is a good man and his help now is nothing but appreciated.

“Yeah, well” Bucky shrugs awkwardly, “I’d hate to see the Justice League crumble just because two people are not enough to qualify as a league.”

“The Justice League isn’t going to crumble. We’ll find him.” Steve says. There’s a quiet confidence in his words. It’s not arrogance, its stubbornness. It’s like Steve believes he can find Bruce and hold the team together through sheer force of will. And honestly, Clark believes he can too.

“I called Lois while you were in Gotham.” Steve says, “She managed to track down every publicly owned property of Lex Luthor in just under an hour.”

“That’s because she’s brilliant.” Clark says beaming with pride. Steve doesn’t disagree.

“I narrowed down the places they could be keeping Bruce,” Steve says, “There are two buildings close to each other on the Lower East Side. There’s low foot traffic and few other buildings in the area. We’ll look there first.”

“I’ll take one and you and Bucky take the other?” Clark suggests. Steve shakes his head.

“We stick together. We already know Luthor has access to kryptonite and he’s not above using violence.” Steve says.

“Searching one by one will be slower.” Clark says, “And we don’t know…how much time Bruce has.”

The statement hangs there. The truth of it heavy across their shoulders. It’s possible that they are already too late, that Luthor had Bruce killed and hid the body somewhere where nobody will ever find it. It’s a possibility that Steve has considered and dismissed. It does no good to think like that, and until they have conclusive proof that Bruce is dead, Steve plans on operating under the assumption that this is a rescue mission and not a recovery mission.

“It will go even slower if one of us gets taken down. We go together.” Steve says. Clark chews on his lip but doesn’t argue, bowing to Steve’s greater experience. 

They head out. Clark flying, using the clouds as a cover, while Bucky and Steve slink across rooftops. Clark keeps them in his sight as they move almost invisibly across the rooftops.

They reconvene atop a building across the street from their target. Without needing to be told, Clark scans it. Predictably it is shielded by a thick wall of lead. He relays that information to Steve and Bucky. Neither of them looks surprised.

“I’ll scope it out.” Bucky says.

Steve nods, “reconnaissance only. Don’t engage.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “It’s not my first night mission old man.”

“Just making sure,” Steve says, but there’s a slight smile on his lips. It’s obvious to Clark, that Steve is enjoying Bucky’s brief break from retirement. He wonders what they were like during the war, before time and too many battles had dimmed the excitement from their eyes. The two of them, and the Howling Commandoes he’s heard so much about, must have really been something to see.

Bucky disappears into the shadows as effectively as Bruce, and even with superhearing Clark can’t make out his catlike footfalls. Steve stands motionless on the edge of the roof, his eyes scanning the area with a soldier’s vigilance.

Fifteen minutes later Bucky returns.

“They are definitely up to something in there.” He says before Steve can even ask for a report, “They’ve got a whole team of people, and the security guards they hired aren’t your average rent-a-cop.

“How so?” Clark asks

“They’re ex-military.” Bucky says, the elaborates seeing the question in Clark’s eyes, “You can tell by the way they hold their guns.”

“Good,” Steve says, “if security’s that tight, there’s more of a chance that something big is here. Something like Bruce.”

Clark takes to the air. His whole body tingles with a nervous energy. Bruce could be so close. By this time tomorrow they might even have Bruce back in Gotham with an overjoyed Dick Grayson chattering his ear off. Clark can already picture the cheek splitting grin on the boy’s face at the sight of his guardian returned.

“We stick together. Nobody head off on their own, got it?” Steve says. Bucky and Clark nod.

“Alright, let’s head out.” Steve says, leaping from the building. Bucky follows close behind and Clark dives after them, a blur of red and blue.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission goes awry.

Clark busts through the doors. They crumple as if made of paper under his fists. He lands in a rather normal looking lobby of the office building. Security men around the room have their guns aimed on him the moment he lands. Behind him Steve and Bucky jump over the mangled doors. Clark sneaks a glance at them and sees that Steve has his shield up defensively and Bucky has positioned himself between Steve and Clark, using them both as shields. Satisfied that both his companions are protected, Clark crosses his arms.

“Where is Bruce Wayne?” Clark asks, with more force than Superman is known for.

The guard ignores the question.

“This is private property. Vacate the premises.”

Clark doesn’t move. Behind him he hears Steve shift; preparing to throw his shield.

“I’ll leave once I get some answers.” Clark says.

“Vacate the premises.” The guard repeats. He levels the gun at Clark’s chest. It’s an old clunky thing, very different than their sleek modern uniforms. In fact, the last time Steve had seen that model was back in the war. Realization clicks into place.

“Superman move!” Steve commands. Clark and the guard respond at the same time. Clark flies up just as the gun fires. A green bullet wizzes through the air, striking Clark in the stomach. He’s lucky though, without Steve’s warning it would have been his heart.

The kryptonite burns as it rips its way through Clark’s body. He collapses to the floor as Steve’s shield sails overhead. It collides with the first guard before bouncing off the wall and hitting a second. Clark struggles to get his feet under him, he has to help Steve and Bucky. The movement causes a whimper to escape his clenched jaw, as his legs fail him.

“Easy pal.”

Bucky is at his side, talking in a low soothing tone. The same tone Clark has heard him use on his cats many times. He feels the cold metal of Bucky’s arm wrap around his shoulder while his flesh arm grabs under his knees. With a grunt, Bucky hefts him up.

“Got him Cap. Fall back.”

Bullets ricochet around them as they race towards the exits. Steve provides cover at the rear, letting the bullets ping off his shield. He can hear Clark groaning and Bucky leans over to whisper something that’s lost in the surrounding chaos. As the team falls back, the guards pursue with ruthless efficiency. Out of the corner of his eye Steve sees Bucky rip something from his pocket and throw it back at the guards. Steve covers his eyes just in time. The flash grenade goes off, temporarily blinding the guards, allowing Steve, Bucky and Clark to disappear while the guards try to get their bearings.

Clark stares blankly at the night sky above him as pain radiates from his stomach. The kryptonite worming its way deeper into his body makes his head feel fuzzy and he fights not to pass out. Above him, Clark can hear Bucky and Steve talking in clipped professional tones, though he can’t focus enough to fully parse the words.

The jostling finally stops as Bucky gently sets him down on the dirty ground of an alleyway. There’s an atmosphere of controlled urgency, not unlike an operating room. Bucky shifts, taking a position at Clark’s head. His hands pressing down on Clark’s shoulders. Steve riffles through his belt pouches where Clark knows he keeps a small kit of field medical supplies.

“This is going to sting a bit, try not to move.” Bucky says as Steve takes a spot next to Clark’s stomach. A pair of tweezers glint in the dim light.

“Sorry pal. I’ll be fast.” He promises. Clark blinks, not fully comprehending.

“Lucky for you, you’ve got the fastest bullet pincher this side of the Atlantic.” Bucky says, “Dug a bullet the size of a quarter out of Jones’s leg once in under ten minutes, and that was under heavy fire.”

Clark pieces the words together as understanding settles in. He barely has time to tense before he feels the tweezers against his stomach. Pained gasps work their way out of his throat as he fights not to scream. He struggles weakly and Bucky presses down harder, forcing him to remain still.

A large shard is pulled out and hastily stuffed into a lead-lined pouch. Then the tweezes are back, routing around the wound for more pieces. The pain steals Clark’s breath away. His head spins. Leaving the kryptonite seems like a better plan than this torture.

“Breathe through your nose.” Bucky says helpfully. Another shard is removed.

“Almost done.” Steve promises. His hands are steady, even after being coated with blood. A third piece is removed, then a fourth, and fifth. Steve gives the wound a critical onceover being nodding in a satisfied way. Clark’s breathing slows, returning to normal at the removal of the kryptonite, though the pain lingers; hot and sharp.

Steve grabs bandages. Without needing to be told Bucky sits Clark up. Together, Bucky and Steve wrap the bandages around Clark’s waist.

“twelve and half minutes, not bad.” Bucky says.

“Still doesn’t beat our record of just over nine.” Steve says as he tucks away the tweezers. He smiles at Clark, “How do you feel?”

“Hurts,” he grunts. Steve’s eyes are sympathetic as he cleans the blood from his hands.

“Gunshot wounds tend to do that. Lucky for you, tomorrow is a sunny day. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“Thanks.” Clark says and then stiffens. _Bruce!_ He struggles to his feet, only to be forced back down by Bucky and Steve.

“Bruce. We can’t leave him.” Clark grunts. The image of Dick Grayson’s worried face flashes across his mind. They are so close. If they leave now Luthor might have Bruce moved, or worse.

“Stay here. Buck and I are going back.” Steve says.

“No, someone has to stay back with him.” Bucky says nodding at Clark, “I’ll go back.”

“You can’t go alone.” 

“Yes I can Rogers.” Bucky grunts, “This just became a covert operation. Security is going to be on edge. There’s no way you’re sneaking your target of a shield back in.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. The plan was they stick together and though they’ve often had to abandon plans and wing it in the past, Steve doesn’t feel right sending Bucky off on his own with Clark injured.

“Steve,” Bucky says softly, “I can do this.”

“I know.” Steve admits, “I just don’t like it.”

Bucky dips his head in acknowledgment, but persists.

“They are guarding the building the kryptonite guns. Bruce has to be in there.” Bucky says. His eyes are dark with memories as he adds, “We can’t leave a man behind.”

Steve feels his heart shatter at the look on Bucky’s face. Not for the first time Steve wonders about the thoughts that must have went through Bucky’s head after waking up back in the hands in Hydra. Had he thought imagined Steve and the Howling Commandos breaking down the door coming to save him? Had he wondered why he had been left behind like a forgotten piece of equipment? Guilt bubbles up in Steve. He nods.

“You’re right. Go in but get out of there and come get me if security looks too stiff.”

Bucky nods, giving Steve a sloppy salute before disappearing into the night. Steve helps Clark prop himself up against the side of the wall, next to a pile of rotting garbage. He hardly notices the smell however, too busy twisting himself into worried knots.

“I’m sorry.” Clark says after a few moments of silence.

“For what?”

“For this.” Clark says gesturing towards his bloody bandages. Steve smiles.

“Everyone gets shot doing this job eventually.” Steve says with a lopsided grin, “just be glad it’s one you can walk away from.”

“I’m supposed to be faster than a speeding bullet.” Clark shakes his head in bitter self-reproach.

“Those were kryptonite guns. It’s different.” Steve insists. Clark doesn’t see the difference but he’s too sore and too tired to argue right now. Instead he changes the subject.

“The guns looked pretty old. Germanic?”

Steve nods, “We should have guessed that any Nazi kryptonite weapons floating around would be scooped up by Luthor.”

Clark groans. He doesn’t want to even think about how many kryptonite weapons Luthor has stashed away or about how much more kryptonite he’ll get his greedy hands on if his shady deal goes through. Steve puts his hand on his shoulder, his touch light but comforting.

“We won’t let him get away with this.” Steve promises. Clark meets Steve’s eyes. There’s a serious look on his face, the same one Clark blurrily remembers from the night he inhaled kryptonite gas. It’s a calm look that seems to say that no matter how bad things are or how much they hurt now, they will get better. It’s a look Clark trusts, and more importantly, believes.

Steve stands up, pacing the length of the alleyway. Clark knows he calculating how long he expects Bucky to be able to break in, find Bruce, and escape. Clark doesn’t expect it to be any less than an hour, at least. Which is why he startles when Bucky drops down from nearby rooftop only twenty minutes later.

He’s alone. Clark feels his stomach clench painfully in a way that can’t be blamed on a kryptonite bullet.

“I have bad news and more bad news.” Bucky says, his face dark.

“What happened?” Steve asks. Clark holds his breath.

“Bruce isn’t there. I don’t think he ever was.” Bucky says.

“But the guards—”

“That’s the other bad news,” Bucky sighs. He runs his hand through his hair, the metal gleaming in the moonlight.

“On the third floor there’s nothing but labs…and a lot of dead dogs, mutated dead dogs. I think Luthor has been experimenting on them.”

There’s a dark look on Bucky’s face and fury radiates from every line of him. Danger does as well. Clark suspects this is as close to the Winter Solder Bucky has come in a long time. It sends a shiver down his spine. He wonders if Bucky recognized any of the dogs.

“He’s trying to make his own version of the serum.” Steve says, looking almost as angry as Bucky.

“That’s what I was thinking as well.” Bucky says, “I didn’t do anything that would tip Luthor off that I was there, but after we find Bruce I’m tearing that place apart.”

Clark shivers at the hard edge in Bucky’s words.

“I’ll help.” Steve promises, “come on there’s nothing more we can do tonight, let’s get Clark home.”

Clark feels two sets of hands grab him under his arms and haul him up. His wound stings at the sudden movement, but manages to stay on his feet. Flying is out though. Instead Steve and Bucky help him stagger down the street, keeping in the shadows. Clark is grateful that it’s late and the area is sparsely populated. He can’t imagine what people would say if they saw Superman staggering around like a drunkard after a long weekend.

Clark struggles to remain upright even with Steve and Bucky’s help. Every step is a lesson in stubbornness and concentration. Above him he catches snatches of conversation as Bucky and Steve plot their next course of action. He’s too tired to follow most of what they’re saying but the steady stream of soft words is soothing all the same.

Steve and Bucky stop at Clark’s apartment and help him inside. Bucky freezes. Picking up on his reaction Steve goes still as well.

“Somebody’s here.” Bucky hisses, his hand drifting towards his knife. Steve raises his shield. Clark tries to steady himself in case there’s a fight.

A dark tousled haired head pops out from the kitchen.

“You’re good Sarge.” Dick says ambling into the room. He stops when he catches sight of Clark, “What happened?”

“Kryptonite.” Clark says shortly as Steve deposits him on the couch, “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know the moment you find Bruce. I didn’t want to have to wait on a phone call.” Dick says, “Besides, I can’t be of any real help in Gotham.”

“And?” Clark asks because that doesn’t tell him why Dick is in his apartment.

“And…I figured that I would stay with you until we find Bruce. I promise not to go out and risk my identity,” Dick says in a rush, before quickly adding, “Alfred said it was okay.”

Clark blinks at him. His head aches and his body is begging him for rest. Dick looks at him with a mixture of earnest hopefulness and worry. It’s endearing and after the disappointment of not finding Bruce for him yet, Clark finds he can’t deny him.

“Steve?” Clark asks. Let Captain America be the one to disappoint the teen hero, he’s not the one who got shot today.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Steve says. Clark gives him a look and silently takes back every nice thing he’s ever said about Steve. Bucky too for that matter, who stays quiet throughout the exchange.

Clark can’t babysit a kid, especially not Bruce’s. What if something happens to the boy? Bruce would never forgive him. Clark would never forgive himself. No, Dick is much safer if he stays in Gotham, at home with Alfred where he belongs.

He opens his mouth to say as much when Dick turns his big blue eyes in his direction.

“I promise I won’t be a bother.” Dick says earnestly. The words die in Clark’s throat, as if Dick being a bother was the issue. How could he not see that Clark just wanted him to be far away from danger. Somehow Dick’s eyes get even sadder, his whole body drooping with anticipated disappointment. It’s heart wrenching to look at and shockingly manipulative. Where did Dick learn that trick? There’s no way he learned it from Bruce.

Like kryptonite, Clark has no resistance against Dick Grayson’s pleading look. He supposes his apartment will be safe enough. It’s not like Dick will be out fighting. In the face of Clark’s silence Steve claps him on the back and the two super soldiers depart, leaving Clark with his new roommate.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Dick asks, “I can get you a glass of water…or something.” 

Clark feels any lingering annoyance at the situation melt away at the sincere concern in the boy’s tone. He smiles.

“I’m okay. I just need some sleep and since I’m already here, I’ll take the couch. You can take my bed.”

“Thanks Superman.”

“Clark,” Clark corrects, “if we’re going to be roommates, call me Clark.”

Dick stares at him in amazement.

“Sure thing…Clark.”

Clark feels his lips twitch in amusement.

“Now get to bed, it’s late. We’ll talk about the mission in the morning.”

Dick hops up to follow his command and bounds into Clark’s bedroom. Clark settles in to get some well-deserved sleep. Dick pops his head back into the room.

“Thanks for everything…Clark.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does some solo investigating.

Sunlight streams through Clark’s curtained windows. He breathes a light sigh as the warmth sinks into his skin, brushing away any aches or pains. There’s movement in the kitchen, the soft padding of footsteps of someone trying to be quiet. Clark listens as Dick riffles through his fridge for breakfast. He shifts guiltily. If he had known he’d be having a house guest he’d have more food in the apartment for him. Perhaps he should run to the grocery store and pick a few things up. Bruce wouldn’t be pleased if he knew that Clark was feeding his ward substandard meals.

His thoughts are cut off by Dick entering the room. In his hands is a plastic serving tray. Atop sits cereal, toast, and a glass of orange juice. He holds it out to Clark.

“It’s for you,” he says in response to Clark’s questioning look. It’s endearing how earnest Dick looks with his oversized sweatshirt and tray of breakfast.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you.” Clark says taking the tray. Dick sits down on the couch next to him, his eyes roaming over Clark’s too pale skin and the bandages peeking out from under his shirt.

“I’m going to be fine.” Clark says, “It just might take a day or two.”

Dick nods, not meeting Clark’s eyes. Clark sets his bowl of cereal down and grips Dick’s shoulder.

“I promise, this isn’t going to stop me from finding Bruce.” 

Dick’s eyes snap up, “I know that!”

Dick shrugs, “I guess…I just never realized Superman could be hurt so bad. I’m sorry this is my fault. You were only there investigating because I asked for your help and—”

“Hey,” Clark says cutting him off firmly, “Bruce is my teammate and my friend. I want to find him. None of this is your fault, do you understand?”

Dick gives him a long searching look as if trying to find a hint of a lie in Clark’s words. Clark stares back steadily. Dick gives a small nod. 

“Good,” Clark says simply before digging back into his hard earned breakfast.

Meanwhile and several miles away Steve and Bucky sit at their kitchen table as they go over last night’s mission. Bucky is scowling, and dark bags under his eyes tell of a sleep interrupted by nightmares. Steve feels only slightly better than Bucky looks. He pours them both large cups of coffee that is more like coffee ground sludge than anything resembling real coffee. Caffeine won’t work on them, but the taste reminds them both of the war and long stake outs with the Howling Commandoes. It’s comforting in its own way.

Steve looks over the list of addresses, rubbing his head.

“The building on Conway Ave is a possibility, but it’s rather close to the buildings surrounding it. His warehouse by the docks is private enough though.” Steve says thoughtfully. Bucky doesn’t respond. He’s hardly spoken more than a few words all morning and there’s a painfully familiar haunted look in his eyes. Steve sets down his list.

“What triggered it; Clark getting shot or the dead dogs?” Steve asks gently. Bucky grunts, a dark shadow passing over his face. Steve is patient, he doesn’t mind waiting for Bucky to find the words. Finally Bucky speaks. It’s so soft, Steve almost misses it.

“Both.”

Steve doesn’t press for details, but offers what comfort he can.

“Clark is going to be fine. Let him get some sunshine and in a few days it will be like he was never shot.”

Bucky gives him a weak smile and it breaks Steve’s heart to see how frail it looks, like the faintest hint of bad news will shatter him.

“I know,” Bucky says softly, “but there was so much blood…If he were a human he’d be dead.”

Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Steve reaches out. He lets his fingers encircle Bucky’s wrist, lets himself feel the pulse thrumming just below the skin.

“I know, but Clark can handle it. That’s why he does what he does.”

Bucky’s smile becomes a little more genuine, his eyes soft.

“And that’s why Captain America does what he does too?”

“Nah,” Steve says with a grin, “You know me, I’m just a Brooklyn boy too dumb to run away from a fight. Clark’s the noble one here.”

Steve leans back in his chair, satisfied, as Bucky lets out a snort. He picks up his list to read through potential places where Bruce could be stashed away as Bucky stares out the window. His smile slips away.

“Remember that dog that I wanted Clark to take?” Bucky asks. Steve looks at him from over the paper.

“Yeah?”

“He got adopted,” Bucky says.

“That’s great. I know you wanted Clark to have him, but as long as he’s going to a good home, that’s the important part.” Steve says smiling. Bucky doesn’t smile back. Privately, Steve wonders if he should start looking for a dog friendly apartment.

“What if he wasn’t…those dead dogs were probably taken from a shelter.” Bucky says, “They probably thought they were going to a good home too.”

“Buck…” Steve trails off, unsure of what to say.

“Forget about it.” Bucky mutters standing up. I’m going to the shelter.”

Steve watches him go, knowing that he won’t see him for the rest of the day.

That night when Bucky still isn’t back and with Clark still recovering, Steve heads out alone. He roughly silences the voice in his head calling him a hypocrite for going in without backup. With Bruce’s life on the line they don’t have time to wait. Besides, Bucky needs a break. Seeing Clark shot and the mutilated dogs triggered some of the worst flashbacks Bucky has had since coming to Metropolis. Steve had spent the night listening to Bucky shouting and begging from the endless stream of nightmares.

Steve checks the building on Conway first though he doesn’t have high hopes. The building is in a location with far too much foot traffic to successfully keep someone hidden. Still, his training has made him thorough in all his investigations. He finds the building empty with no sign of Bruce or anything useful. He leaves disappointed, but unsurprised.

Next, he heads down to the warehouse by the docks next. This location he’s much more optimistic about. The docks are a lonely place, far away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. Rundown warehouses and bars catering to shipmen line the empty streets. What little crime exists in Metropolis, that isn’t perpetrated by supervillains, happens primarily here.

Steve drops down from the rooftops to skulk through dirty alleyways. Despite their seedy reputation and even seedier aesthetics, Steve doesn’t mind the docks. They remind him of his Brooklyn, when every place had a thin layer of grime on it and crime was never far away.

A dim light shines through the dirty windows of the warehouse. Steve, who knows far more about being stealthy than any of his friends give him credit for, creeps inside. The war taught him how to slip silently between the shadows, unseen by enemy combatants. Steve uses that training now to find a shadowed corner where he can watch a group of men stacking dozens of crates against the wall. Curious, but not what he came for. Steve scans the room for Bruce, but comes up empty. Nothing, but endless crates and shipping containers. Disappointing, but that doesn’t mean tonight has to be completely wasted.

Steve holds his position until the men finish their work and head out for the night. He listens as their truck pulls away. Stepping further into the room Steve heads towards the crates first and using his shield as leverage on the lid, cracks one open. Inside are dozens of cases, each one carrying ten vials with a bluish milky substance inside. Tucked inside the cases are documents filled with graphs, citations and words like “increased metabolism” and “enhanced physiological capabilities.” Steve frowns. There are very few people Steve trusts with any version of the super soldier serum, and Luthor is not one of them. He slips a few vials into his pocket. Perhaps Tony, or if they find him soon Bruce, will be able to run a scan on it.

In the name of thoroughness Steve cracks open a few more crates. Most are filled with the same knock-off super soldier serum as the first one, when he opens the last one he sees something different. Kryptonite. Big slabs of it, tiny pebbles, and everything in between fill the crate. Steve breathes a sigh of relief that Clark isn’t here.

As he closes the lid he hears the sound of the truck returning. Steve curses, no time to hide. He has just enough time to raise his shield as the two men who he had watched unloading the crates walk through the door.

There’s a second where the two parties look at each other, frozen in time. Then the man on the left moves, his hand twitches towards his belt, where a gun is clearly visible. Steve snaps into action. He throws his shield and runs forward. The shield knocks his hand away from the gun and Steve follows it up with a solid punch to the jaw.

Behind him he hears the click of a gun’s safety going off.

“Move and I shoot.” The man shouts. Like the guards from the other night, he too seems to be military trained. Steve raises his hands and turns around slowly. The man grins. So does Steve.

Steve drops to the ground and kicks his legs out, sweeping the man off his feet. The gun goes off, the shot wild. Steve scoops up his shield and spins. It’s just in time to block a round of shots from the first man who has retrieved his gun. Steve plows into him, using his shield as a battering ram and knocks him to the ground.

He hits the man in the temple with his shield and his opponent goes still, knocked out cold. Steve turns back to the other man who is scrambling for his gun. Steve gets there first, kicking the gun out of reach and picking him up by his shirt.

“Where is Bruce Wayne?” He snarls. A glob of spit hits Steve in the face and the man smirks. Steve slams the man into the wall and watches with great pleasure as the smirk slides off his face.

“Don’t test me,” Steve warns while the man scowls at him. “Where is Bruce Wayne?”

The man doesn’t answer. Shrugging Steve pulls him away from the wall and drags his outside. He ignores the way the man struggles ineffectively in his grasp. Down the street they go like a parent and an oversized misbehaving child, until they hit the pier. As if sensing that things are about to get worse for him the man struggles harder.

“Keep trying son.” Steve says, as the first traces of fear flood the man’s face. The fear intensifies as Steve swings him out over the water and dangles him there.

“Now, let’s try this again, where is Bruce Wayne?”

“You wouldn’t drop me!” The man says, though the way he clings to Steve’s arm belies his doubt, “you hero types don’t do that kind of thing.”

Steve flashes him a grin he learned from Natasha.

“I’m not Superman,” Steve reminds him and loosens his grip just enough that the man slips a few inches. He yelps and scrabbles uselessly at Steve’s arm.

“Do you really want to take that bet?” Steve asks.

“I can’t swim!”

“Then I hope you can talk.”

The man stares at Steve and Steve stares back coldly. The man might not be a Nazi, but he’s a cruel man who willingly serves an even crueler one. That’s hardly an upgrade in Steve’s opinion. He lets the man slip another inch.

“I don’t know where he’s keeping him!” The man shouts.

“That’s unfortunate for you.” Steve says not moving him from over the water.

“But I know he’s alive!” The man says, his legs kick desperately over the churning water. Steve doesn’t let the relief coursing through him show on his face.

Anything else you can tell me?” Steve asks.

“The billionaire is tougher than anyone gives his credit for and the bossman ain’t happy about it.”

“Explain.”

The man falls silent a look of fear passing over his face. Steve gives him a shake as a wave crashes into the pier, spraying icy water against his dangling legs.

“Torture.” The words slip out, nearly lost to roar of the ocean beneath them. Torture is not unexpected, but it still feels like a punch in the gut to hear it spoken aloud.

“What does Luthor want from him?”

“I don’t know.” Steve can see from the wild eyes, filled with unbridled panic that he’s telling the truth. He switches gears.

“How bad is he?” Steve asks.

“I haven’t seen him for myself, but…”

“But?”

“From the rumors, he’s snapped, gone around the bend. There might not be much of him left by the time Luthor is done with him.”

Cold fury washes over Steve, covering up the sick feeling of fear in his stomach. He’s rescued men from prison camps like that. Men whose bodies healed, but their minds never did. It was heart wrenching to look into their eyes and see only blank fear looking back. No matter how much you reassured them they were safe, the unsettling blankness never left. It’s like their soul died and their body is just waiting to join it. It’s a fate Steve wouldn’t wish on anyone, much less a friend. He doesn’t even want to think about how this will effect Dick.

His hand twitches, longing to drop the man into the churning sea for his role in this whole affair. The man whimpers as if reading Steve’s thoughts from the scowl on his face. Steve lets him hang there for a second longer, letting the fear really sink in, before he roughly hauls the man back onto the pier. The man goes limp as soon as his feet touch solid ground and doesn’t struggle as Steve drags him back to the warehouse.

The other man is still out cold laying right where Steve left him. He grabs him as he passes and isn’t gentle as he ties both men to a support pole. Steve drops an anonymous tip to the police from a nearby phone booth, hanging up when the operator asks for a name.

With dawn approaching, Steve heads towards home, bitterly disappointed that Bruce will spend yet another day in the hands of Luthor’s monsters. He tries to cling to the silver lining that at least tonight brought confirmation that Bruce is still alive, but it’s a shallow victory and anger and worry still course through him with every step. He dreads telling the others about Bruce’s possible state. Squaring his shoulders he reminds himself that as long as Bruce is alive there’s still hope. And if they are too late, if they can’t save his life or his mind, then they will certainly avenge him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a break in the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The weekend really got away from me.

Dick sits on Clark’s couch, his head down to hide the look of horror on his face as he listens to Steve recount last night. He shouldn’t be shocked. Torture has always been a possibility when dealing with the monsters they encounter on a nightly basis. Permanent damage though…His stomach churns. They have been lucky so far. The only lasting damage they’ve ever had from their nightly pursuits have been scars. Not pretty, but survivable. What’s worse though, is that it’s not Batman suffering, it’s Bruce Wayne. The thought of Bruce being tortured without even having the mask to hide behind hurts more than Dick thought it would.

Clark sits beside him, not hiding the dark look on his face. He’s still too pale and Dick sees him wince when he moves too fast. Every time Dick sees the poorly hidden grimace, the feeling of unease in his chest only worsens. Superman isn’t supposed to wince.

Clark stands up. Worry makes him want to move, to help, to do something. But the painful tug on the stitches across his stomach reminds him just how little he can do at the moment.

“What are some of the other properties left on the list?” He asks.

“There’s not many,” Steve says, “and the ones left, aren’t very conducive to housing a prisoner. We may have to start looking for other leads in tracking down Bruce.”

“Lois and I can start tapping our contacts. See if we can rustle anything up.” Clark says.

“Good, Bucky and I will knock out the last of the known addresses just to be safe.” Steve says.

Dick bites down hard on his lip. He wants to go with them. It’s taking all of his self-control to remain in his seat. And honestly, would it really be the worst thing in the world if Robin were seen in Metropolis? Would anyone even notice him standing next to heroes like Superman and The Captain? Still, he holds his tongue, only because he knows it’s what Bruce would want. For now, at least, he won’t risk his or Bruce’s identity. Superman and The Captain are more than capable of handling the situation.

As the next few days pass, Dick struggles to cling to that optimism, but with every bit of bad news he feels it slipping from his grasp. Bucky and Steve search every inch of each property on the list and come up empty handed, while none of Clark’s contacts are talking. Luthor must be paying them very well.

“We’ll find him.” Clark assures him for the third time that night. But despite his words he looks grim, far grimmer than Superman ever should. Once again, Steve and Bucky have gathered in Clark’s cramped apartment. The list lays on the kitchen table, the last address crossed off with an angry black line. A waste of time that they don’t have to spare. Disappoint and worry permeate the room.

Dick pulls his eyes away from the list to give Clark a weak smile. His stomach hurts.

“Now what do we do?” Dick asks. The adults look at each other in a way that does nothing to help the churning in Dick’s gut. What if there is no plan? What if they give up? Dick can’t give up on Bruce. He won’t.

“We expand our search.” Steve says, “A man as rich as Luthor must have properties outside of Metropolis.”

It’s better than nothing, and certainly better than giving up, but it will take weeks, possibly even months to gather that sort of information. Who knows how long it will take to thoroughly investigate them? Bruce doesn’t have that long. While Dick feels confident in saying that Bruce is one of the strongest people he has ever met, but nobody can withstand torture indefinitely.

Bucky must read the look on Dick’s face because he speaks up.

“That will take a while, and we don’t exactly have a lot of time to spare.”

Dick flashes him a grateful look.

“The our only other option is a direct confrontation with Luthor.” Steve says. Dick sits up straighter. The air in the room thickens with tension. He knows Superman has been reluctant to confront Luthor directly. Too many prior clashes between the two has only made Luthor more paranoid and devious in his schemes. And if Luthor suspects they are getting too close, who knows what he’ll do to Bruce. Still, with dwindling options, Dick thinks it’s worth a chance.

“I’m for it.” Bucky says, breaking the silence.

“It won’t work. Luthor is too smart for it to be tricked out of him and we _aren’t_ going to hurt him for the information.” Clark says firmly. Dick holds his breath looking back at Bucky.

“Don’t need to hurt him, just scare him.” Bucky says. There’s something in his voice that makes the hairs stand on the back of Dick’s neck stand up on end. Bucky stands rigidly by the window, his eyes dark. Though just a human, there’s something about the look in his eye that makes Dick feel like Bucky may just be the most dangerous man in the room. It’d be unnerving if not for the fact that Bucky’s on his side.

“Luthor doesn’t scare easily.” Clark responds. Bucky’s face goes hard.

“Luthor’s not afraid of Superman. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t scare easily.” He says.

“Buck.” Steve says, His tone holds both concern and a warning. They stare at each other, having a private conversation that neither Clark nor Dick can understand. Dick used to be able to have those kinds of conversations with Bruce. So much can be conveyed in just a quick glance when you know the other person well enough.

Bucky finally says, leaning back in his chair, “Someone needs to confront him.”

“I agree,” Steve admits, “but I think this calls for a gentler approach.”

A slight smirk edges its way across Bucky’s lips, “Natasha?”

At Steve’s nod the smirk grows wider.

“Luthor won’t know what hit him.”

“Who?” Dick asks, his eyes darting between them. A glance at Clark tells him that the man doesn’t look as opposed to the idea as he did a minute ago.

“A friend of ours.” Steve says.

“And she’s cracked harder nuts than Luthor,” Bucky adds, “She’s a real professional at this sort of thing.”

“A professional?”

“An ex-Russian spy,” Steve clarifies, “and she’s gone toe-to-toe with hydra operatives and Norse gods and I’ve never seen her fail”

Dick’s eyes widen. _A Russian Spy?_ Where did Steve meet people like that? Dick is pretty sure that even Bruce hasn’t met any spies. Hope squeezes his heart with a renewed sense of optimism.

“Give me a day to contact her and get her up to speed.” Steve says. He stands up and heads to the door, Bucky follows. And just like that another meeting of their incomplete Justice League draws to a close.

Steve rubs his eyes, trying to wipe away the exhaustion hiding behind them. Last time he had spoken to Natasha she had mentioned an undercover job in Albania. He can only hope that she’s wrapped that up by now so she can help find Bruce. If not, they’ll have to confront Luthor without her expertise which Steve doesn’t want to risk doing while Luthor still has a hostage. A nudge on his arm draws him out of his musings.

“I’m going to the shelter.” Bucky says and there’s a stormy look in his eyes that Steve knows won’t go away until he’s spent a few hours of doling out bowls of kibble and cleaning litter boxes.

Steve lets him go with a nod and continues back to his apartment. Dark storm clouds hang overhead and a chilly wind ruffles through his hair. He sighs. Bruce gone, Clark hurt, Dick terrified for Bruce though hiding it admirably, and Bucky’s peace interrupted and his trauma brought to the forefront. It would be an understatement to say that things aren’t going well. But then again, Steve thinks wryly as he unlocks his apartment door, that’s a familiar state of being for him.

The moment Steve steps inside his apartment he knows something is off. Silently, he reaches for his shield which is tucked away behind the couch next to the door.

“It’s alright Steve. It’s just me.” A familiar voice calls from the dark kitchen. Steve lets his hand drop in relief. Matt comes out the kitchen, deftly stepping over one of the cats.

“Sorry to startle you, but I went to Tony said it was okay to wait for you here.” Matt says, “I wanted to talk to you about the contract.”

“What did you find?” Steve asks, an odd mix of tension and hope rising in him.

“Your friend Bruce Wayne is a paranoid man. Genius, but definitely paranoid.” Matt says. Steve doesn’t fight the slight grin that forms at Matt’s words. He’s not fond of Bruce’s choice to play airheaded playboy as part of his civilian disguise. Mostly because he doesn’t think it’s good for Bruce’s mental health to constantly be playing a role, but also because it means that Bruce rarely gets the accolades he deserves for being a genius.

“Trust me I know, but what act of genius did he do?”

“Page 50, paragraph 4, subsection C12 of clause 6B,” Matt recites, “All transfer of titles, company owned assets totaling over $1,000,000 in value, or company stock of similar value must be signed off by company owner, Bruce Wayne. All signings are to be done in the presence of Alfred Pennyworth. Any signature found to not meet this standard will be considered invalid. If Alfred Pennyworth is indisposed than Jim Gordon shall stand in his place.”

Steve takes in the paragraph.

“So Luthor can’t force Bruce to sign away his company,” He says slowly. Matt gives him an encouraging nod.

“Because they would need Alfred as a witness and Alfred could testify that Bruce only signed under duress.”

“It’s very clever, though I’ve never heard of a businessman going that far or being that paranoid in protecting his assets.”

“Bruce is something else.” Steve says, but his mind is on the clause. Alfred would of course testify if Bruce came to him covered in injuries and asked him to sign off on signing away his business, but Steve knows that there are many ways to break someone without leaving scars. Even if Alfred did testify that Bruce’s state of mind had been compromised due to mental torture, would his word be enough without some sort of physical proof of injury? Steve doubts it. The average person doesn’t have a proper understanding of how damaging psychological torture can be.

“Thank you.” Steve says. Matt stands up, “I have an early morning trial I need to prepare for, but I’ll keep you informed if I find out anything more.”

Steve walks him to the kitchen.

“One more thing, does ThunderCorp mean anything to you?” Matt asks. Steve shakes his head.

“You might want to look into it, a lot of the assets are going to LuthorCorp, but a lot of the money is going to ThunderCorp.”

“We will. Thank you, again.” Steve says sincerely. At Matt’s nod he pushes a button and red light floods the kitchen. As if fades, Steve is left alone with nothing but his worries. Steve grabs the phone off the wall and calls the shelter first. After a few rings with no answer he hangs up. No doubt the phone hadn’t been heard over the cacophony of animals. Not for the first time Steve misses the convenience and prevalence of cell phones in the twenty first century.

Steve dials Clark’s number next. Clark picks up on the second ring.

“Matt was here.” Steve says the moment he hears Clark’s voice.

“We’ll be right over.” Clark says. After hanging up Steve tries calling Bucky once more. Again, the call only rings. Steve racks his brain for anything about ThunderCorp. It sounds vaguely familiar, but nothing useful comes to mind.

Clark and Dick barge in minutes later with windswept hair, not even bothering to knock. Dick’s face shines with worry as he shifts from one foot to the other. A duffle bag is slung over his shoulder. Steve looks at it and then raises an eyebrow at Dick. With a guilty look in his eye and a defiant grimace, Dick holds the duffle bag tighter. Steve sighs. It’s one thing to apprentice in vigilantism under Bruce’s watchful tutelage, but to send him out after someone like Luthor – and with Bruce’s life already on the line – is too dangerous.

“What did he say,” Clark asks. Steve quickly fills them both in to what Matt uncovered.

“Does ThunderCorp mean anything to either of you?” Steve asks.

“It’s a newer company,” Clark says, “but to my knowledge it doesn’t have any connections to Luthor. In fact, I think there was an article in the paper a few days ago about them.”

“Could they be a shell company for Luthor?” Dick asks. Two sets of eyes turn to him in surprise.

Dick shrugs, “I occasionally pay attention when Bruce talks about business stuff.”

“It’s a possibility” Clark admits.

“Then let’s check them out.” Steve grabs his shield. In an instant Clark is wearing his cape and setting his glasses down on the kitchen counter. It amazes Dick how a simple pair of glasses can hide Superman from the world. He had once asked Bruce if Superman had any chameleon powers to explain is natural ability to blend in when not in uniform. Bruce had chuckled and denied that was part of Superman’s skillset. Looking at Superman now, with all traces of Clark Kent gone, Dick thinks Bruce might have been wrong.

“Wait! I want to come.” Dick says. Damn his secret identity. He’s sick of doing nothing while Bruce, his partner, his _father,_ is being tortured. He has to do something.

Steve and Clark exchange looks and even before either one speaks Dick already knows that the answer is no.

“Please!” Dick begs, “He’s family.”

“I know,” Steve says scrubbing his face, “and trust me, I understand better than you realize, but you can’t just go running into danger.”

Even to his own ears the words ring hollow. If only Bucky could hear him now.

“Wait here and let Bucky know what’s happening when he gets back.” He adds.

Dick opens his mouth to argue more and then slams it shut. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he scowls. Suddenly, he launches himself at Clark. Hugging him tightly he buries his face into his shoulder.

“Bring Bruce home, okay?” He mutters.

After a moment of surprise, Clark hugs back.

“I will.”

Dick steps away, a worried frown etched in his face as he watches them leave. As the door shuts behind them the frown drops into a slight smirk. He unzips the duffle bag and from beneath his neatly folded costume, pulls out a device. It’s small and has a green screen at the top and buttons and nobs at the bottom. After a few adjustments the screen lights up. It pings as it registers the tracker he slipped on the underside of Clark’s cape.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Clark's mission takes a dark turn.

Steve and Clark stand outside of ThunderCorp. It’s a squat building, painted the blandest beige Steve has ever scene. It’s as if the designers had purposely set out to build the plainest office building imaginable.

“See anything?” Steve asks. Clark scans the building, a slight frown marring his face.

“No, lead.”

“Well that’s not suspicious at all.” Steve says dryly. He readjusts the shield on his arm.

“Try to stay behind me, if they put up lead shielding than they probably also have kryptonite.” Steve says. Clark gives a short nod. They creep along the edge of the property. There are two fences between them and the building, along with a sign warning trespassers away.

Steve examines the first fence. Though it looks normal, there’s a faint hum emitting from it.

“Electric.” Steve says.

“I’ll get us over them.” Clark says. He wraps his hand around Steve’s arm and leaps. Their feet clear the fence with almost a foot to spare.

“Careful,” Steve says pulling Clark deeper into the shadows on the other side of the fence, “who knows where their cameras are set up.”

They approach the next fence cautiously. Again Steve listens for the faint hum of electricity and finds it. Clark flies them over the fence, landing on the other side with a soft thump. Steve gives him a nod of thanks before moving away. Clark’s hand tightens on his arm.

“Wait! Do you hear that?”

Steve tilts his head. Faintly he hears something growl. He tenses and internally groans. He hates guard dogs. While Bucky spent his youth tending to any stray he passed, Steve’s experience had quite different. Perhaps it was his small size or the aura of “bully bait” he seemed to exclude for most of his childhood, but dogs hated Steve. More times than he can count he was chased down the street by a snarling beast, only to see the monster revert to a puppy like state in Bucky’s presence.

A howling flash of white fur sprints towards them, faster than any dog Steve has ever seen. He barely gets his shield up before the massive dog lunges at him. The hit reverberates through his arm and he stumbles back. The beast bites down hard on his shield, holding on despite Steve’s best efforts to shake him loose.

Clark grabs the dog by the collar, ripping him off. A row of teeth dents the shield. Steve stares at them. No normal dog should be able to leave a mark on vibration. Suddenly the dog twists in Clark’s grasp, latching on to his arm. Clark shouts in pain as the dog sinks his teeth in deep enough to draw blood.

Steve meets Clark’s eyes and sees shock, confusion, and fear. Steve grabs the dog around the middle and pulls. Clark rises into the air, all thoughts of being stealthy gone, and wretches his arm away from the snarling monster. Somewhere in the background an alarm blares. Steve hardly notices, too busy staring at the dog who – intent on not letting his prey escape – leaps into the air after Clark. Clark zigzags across the sky, the dog nipping at his heels.

Guards dressed in black military gear run out. Steve pulls his eyes away from the spectacle in the sky to face them. Flying dogs might be out of his wheelhouse, but soldiers he can handle. He looks them over as they approach. He can tell from the way they grip their guns, they’re all ex-military and all itching for a fight. Steve is unimpressed. He throws his shield and, without waiting to see if it hit, runs forward. He punches the first man in the head. And grabs the second closest man by the arm, twisting it until he hears a snap and the man drops his gun. He holds out his hand just as his shield whizzes by and catches it.

The next man raises his weapon, a German kryptonite Steve notes, and fires. Kryptonite may break the Man of Steel, but it does little against a shield of vibraniam. Steve presses forward, letting bullets bounce around him, until he’s close enough to slam the shield into the man’s chest. Out of the corner of his eye he sees one man raise his gun towards the sky. Steve throws his shield. It makes a satisfying whump sound as it hits its intended target.

He works his way steadily through the guards, each man falling or retreating in the face of The Captain. Suddenly from above he hears a shout. He doesn’t have time to look up before a white mass of wiggling dog drops from the sky. It lands on Steve, knocking him to the ground. Pain radiates from his ribcage as the air leaves his lungs. He tries to throw the dog off, but his arm is awkwardly pinned beneath himself. The dog’s hot breath is inches from his throat. Thick foamy saliva drips from its jowls onto Steve’s chest.

Clark dives towards them. A gunshot rings out. A guard, on his knees and bleeding from a gash on his head, clutches his smoking gun.

Clark falls the rest of the way back to Earth and disappears from Steve’s sight. The dog remains firmly at his throat, waiting for the command to kill. In the terror of the moment Steve spares a thought to worry about Bucky. He hopes Sam will be able to talk Buck out of doing anything stupid in the wake of his death.

“Heel.” A guard says. With one last snarl the dog pushes himself off of Steve’s chest and slinks back to his master. Other guards pull themselves to their feet, wobbling and trying to stem the flow of blood from various injuries. Those who haven’t lost their guns level them at Clark and Steve. Cautiously, Steve sits up. From his new position he can see Clark clutching his shoulder. Blood spills out between his fingers, staining his uniform.

“Hands up!” A guard shouts. Steve raises his hands, dropping his shield. Next to him, Clark does the same.

A pair of handcuffs embedded with kryptonite are slapped on Clark’s wrists, and while Steve’s pair don’t have kryptonite they are far stronger than the average pair of handcuffs should be.

“Where are you taking us?” Steve asks. The only response he gets is a cold look from a guard and throaty growl from the dog.

The building is just as plain on the inside as it is on the outside with off white walls and gray tiles. They are immediately prodded towards a staircase before Steve can take a closer look, and led down several flights of stairs. Steve can do nothing but watch as Clark becomes more unsteady with every step. His costume growing darker with blood by the minute. By the time they reach the bottom, Clark’s clinging to the handrail to remain upright. Unsympathetic guards shove him forward, sending him stumbling the last few steps.

He catches himself on his hands and knees, his face inches from hitting concrete. Two guards haul him back to his feet, while a third one unlocks a pair of lead doors.

As soon as the doors open, screaming can be heard from within. It’s a horrible choked sound, broke by frantic pleas and sobs. Steve’s stomach clenches as he recognizes that voice. A growing look of horror on his Clark’s face tells Steve that he has as well.

“What did you do?” Clark asks, in a horrified whisper.

The guard leading the group ignores Clark completely and leans over to one of his companions.

“Call the boss; he’s going to want to come down for this.”

The man scurries away as Steve and Clark are dragged deeper into the basement. Though basement is perhaps too kind of description Steve thinks. Cells line the sides of the narrow room. It’s more like a dungeon than anything else.

Halfway down the row of cells Steve sees a figure curled up on his side. His stomach drops. Bruce gives no sign that he has noticed Clark or Steve as he stares at them with hazy terrified eyes. He bats at un seen figures and writhes on the floor, mumbling to himself between bought of sobbing and screaming. As they get closer, Steve catches a few words.

“Please…Not Dick…Don’t…Please…Don’t shoot…Dick”

His red rimmed eyes squeeze shut in horror at the phantom images. His skin is sallow and stretched tight. He looks as if he’s barely eaten since his disappearance. Steve’s heart clenches. He never expected to see Batman look so _broken_.

The guards throw them into a cell across from Bruce and Steve isn’t sure if that’s a kindness or an act of mockery, to force them to stare directly at their failure. He has no time to dwell on that question however. Clark still had a bullet in his shoulder.

“Superman,” Steve says gently. Clark doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s staring at Bruce with a hazy look of horror on his face.

“Superman focus.” Steve says firmly and Clark’s eyes drift towards him, “you’ve got a bullet in your shoulder and I need to get it out and wrap the wound.”

Clark nods before turning his head to continue staring a Bruce.

Steve fumbles in his pouch for his tweezers. This won’t be easy with his hands handcuffed together, but it won’t be the hardest bullet extraction he’s ever had to perform either. Handcuffs beat a bumpy jeep under heavy Nazi fire any day of the week.

Clark flinches as Steve tweezes out the bullet pieces, his whole body tense.

“Almost done,” Steve tells him after every shard. Clark squeezes his eyes shut his body only relaxing when the last piece is removed. Wrapping the wound is awkward and Steve doesn’t get it as tight as he would have preferred, but, given the circumstances, it’s acceptable.

“Cap, what do you think happened to him?” Clark asks. Steve glances over at Bruce who is still begging with the monsters in his head.

“I don’t know, he seems drugged.” Steve says.

“Correct Captain.”

Steve glares as Luthor approaches the cell, looking impeccably dressed as he always does.

“Fear Toxin. I have a business associate in Gotham who makes it; Mr. Jonathan Crane.”

That name sounds familiar and it takes Steve a moment to place it. When he does he feels another flash of horror go through him. Jonathan Crane; The Scarecrow. Batman had mentioned him a few times during their monthly Justice League meetings. He’s even aware of fear toxin and it’s dreadful effects. Steve shudders thinking of Bruce down here alone, with nothing but his worst fears for company.

“We pull him out of it every once in a while to see if he’ll be more agreeable to our terms.” Luthor continues, like he hasn’t noticed Steve’s growing revulsion, “He never is. Surprisingly stubborn, that one.

“You bastard.” Steve flings himself at the bars. Furious, he wants nothing more than to punch the smug look off Luthor’s vile face. His hands hit the cold steel of his cell. Over a thousand volts of electricity suddenly course through him. Without his permission his body seizes. He chokes as his lungs refuse to work. He rips his hands away from the bars, agony leaving him cold and sweating. He stumbles back gasping for breath. Luthor just watches him with cruel smirk.

Steve glares at him through the bars.

“What’s your endgame?” He asks, “Buy out WayneTech and then what?”

“I think you already know.” Luthor says. Steve doesn’t say anything.

“You saw the dog, and that’s with only a sliver of WayneTech research. With the rest of it we could start human trials by the end of next year. No more need for Superman when I can make anyone a super man.”

“You’re insane.” Clark grunts from where he’s propped against the wall. Luthor scoffs.

“Of course you think so. What will you do when humanity realizes it doesn’t need you anymore?”

“The world will always need people like Superman.” Steve says.

“Sentimental nonsense.” Luthor says, “You’re stuck in the past, think about the future I can create.”

Steve does think about it. It seems like a world similar to the one Loki wanted to create or the one Ultron wanted. Hell, Hitler and the Red Skull both would have loved this plan. A race of genetically superior “supermen” to rule over humanity; isn’t that what the Nazis were trying to create?

“You’re mad.” Steve says.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. I was hoping for your help.”

Steve snorts, “What?”

“A partnership of sorts. You see, while I’m making progress is replicating Superman’s powers there’s still a flaw. There’s still traces of a weakness to kryptonite in the test subjects, though slight. But I demand perfection. I think your serum is the secret to correcting that flaw.”

Steve glares at him. It always comes back to the super soldier serum. People either feared or coveted it, usually both.

“You’re more insane than I thought if you think I’ll help you.” Steve snaps. Luthor doesn’t look concerned. He shrugs.

“I had hoped for your cooperation, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I’ll just take what I want from you either way.” Luthor says as he strolls away.

Steve watches him leave. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Clark and Steve alone with only the sobs of Bruce for company.

“Bruce.” Steve says. He tries to make his voice as firm as possible, to cut through the madness. It doesn’t work. Clark tries as well, breaking out his always self-assured Superman voice. It too has no effect. After several attempts, Steve and Clark go quiet. Eventually, weakened by the kryptonite, Clark falls into a hazy semi-conscious doze. Steve keeps vigil next to him, determined to keep watch over his suffering comrades.

Bruce isn’t granted the mercy of unconsciousness. He keeps up a steady stream of begging. He begs for Dick’s safety, for Alfred’s, for his parents. Steve even thinks he hears his and Clark’s name amidst the mumbling. He tries not to listen too closely though. He can’t save Bruce, but he can at least give the man his privacy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Dick are forced to make a choice when Steve and Clark don't return from their mission.

Dick keeps his eyes glued to the tracker, watching as a tiny green blip moves to the outskirts of the city, towards ThunderCorp. He estimates that if there’s nothing suspicious about the building it shouldn’t take more than an hour for Superman and The Captain to search it and make their way back to the apartment.

A cat jumps up onto his lap and Dick scratches it behind the ears. The tracker dot blinks at the ThunderCorp office. Dick watches, waiting for it to start moving again. He holds his breath, his whole body going still with anticipation, only noticing when the cat bats at his hand for lack of attention.

The door swings open. Dick jumps. From his place in the doorway Bucky frowns at the sight of an anxious Dick Grayson sitting alone in his apartment. Pushing back his exhaustion, Bucky takes a seat on the couch next to him.

“Hey Sarge.” Dick says barely glancing up.

“Hey kid.” Bucky says and hesitates. Dick can tell that Bucky is trying to find the words to politely ask what Dick is doing here. Dick does him a favor and answers the unasked question.

“Superman and The Captain have a lead on Bruce.” He holds up the tracking device, “They’re checking it out now.”

“That’s a nifty piece of tech.” Bucky says scooping up one of the cats.

“Bruce invented it. He’s a genius like that.”

A half smile flits across Bucky’s face. He looks over Dick’s shoulder at the blinking dot. An hour later and the dot hasn’t moved. Dick feels something shift in his chest. It’s hope. Superman wouldn’t be there this long if they hadn’t found something important. He relays his thought to Bucky and who nods thoughtfully, though instead of hopeful something darker and more worried crosses his face.

Around the second hour mark Dick’s hope begins to give way to apprehension. What could be taking them so long? Silently Bucky leaves the couch, disappearing into his bedroom. When he returns his casual t-shirt and jeans is replaced by a pair of black pants with an overabundance of pockets and a black shirt.

“You think something’s wrong too, huh?” Dick says.

“I’m just going to check out what’s taking them.”

“Then I so am I.” Dick jumps to his feet and slings his duffle bag over his shoulder. His body itches with the need to become Robin.

“No, just let me handle it,” Bucky says and he’s met with a hard glare. Bucky glares back. Dick doesn’t flinch. Few people can take a glare from the Winter Soldier so casually. It almost makes Bucky smile. He gives the boy a onceover. Dick is short and scrawny and his jaw in clenched in a painfully familiar way. For a moment Bucky swears he’s back in Brooklyn and there’s a pint-sized Steve Rogers glaring him down and telling him that he’s not going to stop applying to the army no matter how many times they reject him. Bucky hadn’t been able to win that argument, and looking at Dick, he realizes he’s not going to win this one either.

“Fine, but keep up and stay silent,” Bucky says. Dick’s mouth drops open at Bucky’s easy acquiescence and he scampers off to get changed.

When he comes back, he’s fixing the mask on his face. Bucky thinks he looks more like he’s about to go out trick-or-treating than crime fighting. But then again, his roommate dresses as the flag, so Bucky keeps his criticisms to himself.

“So, what do I call you in the field?” Dick asks.

“Bucky.”

“I can’t call you Bucky!” Dick huffs, “Are you telling me you don’t have a superhero name?”

“Trust me kid, I’m not a hero.”

“Yes you are, Alfred says so.” Dick scoffs as if that settles it, “anyway I can’t call you by your real name, it would give away our secret identities.”

Bucky sighs. They don’t have time for this, but the kid has a point. Secret identities are a big deal in this world. He doesn’t fully understand it, but he accepts it. He supposes he could be called Winter Soldier, but that name was associated with far too much cruelty and terror to ever be considered anything but a villain name in his opinion. Bucky wracks his brain for ideas, but he’s never had a real nickname before. At least not one that isn’t based on his real name.

“I know, I’ll call you Sarge.” Dick says, “The Captain and The Sergeant, it fits.”

Bucky tries to remain unmoved by the nickname, but being called Sarge brings him back to his Howling Commando days; of sitting around a campfire and trading rationed cigs and stories. It’s a warm homey feeling.

“Sure kid. Let’s go with that.” Bucky says, and he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake. Dick beams at him.

Bucky and Dick set out. As they leap across rooftops, Bucky has to admit that he’s impressed by what he sees.

They leap across rooftops and Bucky has to admit that he’s impressed by what he sees. Dick may be small but he jumps like he thinks he can fly. It nearly gives Bucky a heart attack the first time he sees Dick dive off a roof only to catch himself on a flagpole. Bruce has trained him well. As the leave Metropolis behind the rooftops become scarcer and Bucky and Dick hit the pavement, skulking down alleyways and side streets, avoiding streetlights and passing cars.

They approach the building and electric fence. Bucky examines it with a frown. He could hop this with a running start, but there’s no way Dick can. He turns to say as much to Dick, only to find a patch of pavement where Dick was standing. Bucky curses, wildly looking around as worst-case scenarios play out in his head.

A short distance away he spots Dick and feels his heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Dick is halfway up a lamp pole. He waves at Bucky when he notices he’s being watched, and then pushes off from the pole. He hurtles through the night sky, clearing the fence by inches. He beams at Bucky from the other side of the fence. Rolling his eyes, Bucky joins him moments later.

“Sarge, look.” Dick says pointing to the trampled dirt and grass. There’s been a fight here. Bucky sees something faintly glowing green. He picks it up. A kryptonite bullet casing. The two share a significant look. He drops the casing and looks at the unassuming building. Somewhere in there are Steve and Clark and possibly Bruce. He’s just not sure what condition they will be in. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought the kid…

“Let’s keep moving.” He says gruffly. As they get closer, they hear something growling. They barely have time to register the noise before a white beast lunges at them.

“Get behind me,” Bucky shouts. With one hand he drags Dick behind him and with the other he goes for a knife. The dog bites down on Bucky’s arm and he breathes a sigh of relief that it’s the metal one. Bucky raises his knife, preparing for a killing blow. Then he gets a better look at the dog.

“Oh no.” He says softly, “what did they do to you boy?”

The growling stops. Bucky feels the bite on his arm loosen as the dog lets out a low whine.

“I know, you’re just scared aren’t you.” Bucky says gently. He lowers the knife, stowing it back in its holster. Carefully, telegraphing his every movement, he reaches out and strokes the dog’s head. The dog’s tail begins to wag as he closes his eyes.

“Sarge?” Dick asks. The dog’s eyes snap open a growl deep in his throat beginning.

“No,” Bucky says firmly, “You know better.”

He scratches the dog behind the ears and the growling stops.

“Sarge,” Dick says again, his voice sounds odd, panicked but also…confused. Bucky hums, still scratching the dog.

“The dog is floating.”

Bucky looks at Dick and then takes a closer look at the dog, who is indeed floating.

“Hmm, he didn’t do that back at the shelter.”

He stops petting the dog, who lowers back to the ground. Curious. But Bucky doesn’t have time to dwell on that mystery, as he catches the thudding sound of several guards running towards them.

Bucky swears and then glances at the kid behind him, wondering again why the hell he allowed himself to be convinced to take a kid into this type of fight. Dick doesn’t seem to notice. The guards run into view, one raises his gun and Bucky whips his head around, seeing red. They’re pointing a gun a kid. They are actually going to shoot a _kid_. Bucky has met some truly despicable people in his time, but those who hurt children will always be the worst in his opinion.

He darts forward. His metal fist collides with a very breakable skull. As the man falls back, Bucky rips the gun out of his hand and tosses it to the side. The next man he grabs by the throat and it would be so easy to squeeze just a little harder. The man must know it to because his eyes widen in terror. No, Bucky doesn’t kill, not anymore. He throws the man into a third guard and they both tumble to the ground with a satisfying thump. Bucky is vicious and methodical. He might not kill anymore, but he doubts any of the men he gets ahold of are walking away without permanent injuries.

There’s panic in the ranks as men break away. They had been prepared for superman, they had even taken precautions against The Captain, but they are blindsided by the unstoppable force that is the Winter Soldier. Bucky doesn’t let a single one escape. He feels bones snap under his fists. It’s a disgustingly familiar feeling, one that he’s felt countless times over the decades and too many times against innocent people. Bucky shakes his head. He has to stay present.

But memories crowd their way in anyway. Memories of the war and the smell of gunpowder mingle with memories of the feeling of ice in his veins as he dispassionately shoots a politician under hydra’s orders. Too many memories mob his mind and he does the only thing he can; he lashes out. Each hit gets a little harder as he tries to punch away the demons that haunt him. Guards fall and they don’t get back up.

The last standing guard shakes as he raises his gun, but he doesn’t point it at Bucky. He points it at Dick.

“Move and I shoot!” His voice cracks. Bucky reaches for his knife, confident he can make the throw before the man can get a shot off.

That turns out to be unnecessary, as before he can even attempt it, the dog’s eyes glow red. With a growl the gun melts in the guard’s hands. Then the dog pounces. The guard screams, trying to protect his throat as he begs and sobs for mercy. The dog keeps his jaws at the man’s throat but doesn’t bite down, looking at Bucky for directions.

“Quit bellyaching,” Bucky grumbles at the man pulling the dog off him. Then for good measure, he punches the man, who falls back, out cold.

Dick stands over the pile of unconscious guards.

“Wow! Did you learn to fight like that in the war?”

Bucky’s metal fist clenches as he looks over the destruction he caused. His mind flashes to other more violent acts of destruction.

“Not exactly.” He says shortly. The Winter Soldier’s crimes hang heavy over his head as he looks out over the destruction he’s caused.

“Sarge?” Dick asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.” Bucky grunts. He and Dick move on, the dog follows as if not sure what else to. The odd group enters the building.

“Where do you think they are?” Dick asks. Bucky glances at the bland interior. The first floor looks like just a normal office lobby. He’s been in Hydra run buildings like this before. It’s always the same, normal on main floor where anybody might wander in, but the real crazy stuff was always kept on the lower levels.

“Down.” Bucky says and nods to a door leading to a staircase. As they descend a deep sense of foreboding overtakes Bucky. He has to force himself to keep moving forward. Dick must feel it too because he can feel the kid step closer to him. Just before they reach the bottom, they hear the screams.

“Bruce!” Dick pushes past Bucky and leaps over the last few steps. He barely notices the dungeon like quality of the basement as he races past empty cells. He stops suddenly when he gets his first look at Bruce.

Bruce sobs weakly, his eyes staring blankly past Dick. His face is unnaturally pale.

“Bruce,” Dick mumbles as his eyes well with tears. He feels them sliding down his cheeks. Bruce ignores him. Dick has never seen Bruce like this before. He’s so _broken_. Dick hadn’t thought it was possible to break Batman. A hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

“Just me kid.” Bucky says gently.

“He…he…we should have gotten here sooner.” Dick mumbles. Bucky doesn’t argue.

“We’re here now.”

Bucky stands and gives Steve a half smile.

“You okay?”

“Clark got shot but I dressed the wound.” Steve says. He tilts his head in confusion, before a scowl overtakes his face, “Why did you bring the monster dog here?”

“He’s not a monster.” Bucky says, “this is the dog I was telling you about. The one that I thought Clark might like.”

“The dog tried to kill us.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Bucky says stubbornly. He pulls out a lock pick and gets to work. Behind him, Dick wipes his tears and pulls out his own lock pick.

“It’s okay Bruce, I’m getting you out of here.” Dick promises. The door swings open. He doesn’t want to step closer to Bruce with his vacant eyes and wheezing cries, but he forces himself to anyway. He puts a comforting hand on Bruce’s shoulder, not that it makes a difference. Dick feels his heart shatter with every whimper from his mentor.

Dick takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. He breathes in a damp mildewing smell. It’s disgusting and something about it causes him to shudder in fear. His breathing picks up and his heart begins to race. A hazy cloud steals across his mind. Dick shakes his head, blinking rapidly.

He gasps, recognizing that smell; Scarecrow’s fear toxin. He takes a closer look at Bruce; glassy eyes, unusually pale skin that burns to the touch, erratic pulse, a look of wild terror. All the symptoms are there.

Dick fumbles for his utility belt. He can fix this. Bruce has drilled into him the proper procedures for dealing with fear toxin, as well as the Joker’s laughing gas, and numerous other gaseous poisons one is likely to come across while fighting crime in Gotham. He grabs his syringe and checks the dosage. Certain it’s correct he plunges it into Bruce’s arm. Bruce’s scream dies in his throat. He blinks, his eyes begin to clear immediately. He looks at Dick. He _looks_ at Dick.

“Di-Robin?” He mumbles.

“Bruce!” He throws himself into Bruce’s arms. Tears stain Bruce’s already dirty and rumpled suit jacket. Still blinking in confusion, Bruce wraps his arms around Dick, one hand coming up to bury itself in a tangle of dark hair.

“It’s okay chum.” He says gently. He looks over Dick’s trembling shoulders. Clark is leaning on Steve as they exit their own cells. A man with a metal arm stands by the door. Bruce stiffens. He’s never met this man, but he recognizes him immediately. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. Dick squirms in Bruce’s arms.

Bruce’s eyes break away from the Winter Soldier. Instead he pulls back to get a better look at Dick’s face. He wipes away a few stray tears from his son’s face. Pride swells within his chest at the sight of Dick. Before he can speak, Dick is launching himself back into a hug. Bruce returns it.

“Mr. Wayne.” Barnes says more gently than Bruce would have expected, “Can you walk?”

Bruce nods and Dick helps him to his feet. Bruce feels lightheaded and the movement makes his stomach jump into his throat, but one look at Dick’s anxious face has him smiling weakly and pushing forward. As the only adult unharmed, Barnes takes the lead. Bruce watches him. Despite Steve’s urging Bruce never had any desire to meet Barnes. He could, on an intellectual level, admit that becoming as assassin hadn’t been Barnes choice or fault, yet the instinctual distrust of someone who can kill so easily and efficiently lingers.

The five of them, plus a dog – A dog? Bruce shakes his tired aching head – march out of the dungeon. Dick clings to his side, while Steve helps Clark who still look pale in his bloodstained suit. It’s eerily silent as they walk through the building. Bruce feels tense enough to snap, wondering from which direction they will be attacked from. But nobody stops them. Once they are outside, Bruce can see why. Unconscious guards litter the ground, and Bruce has a sneaking suspicion who put them there. His eyes flicker to Barnes who steps over the guards with barely a glance.

Slowly they make their way back to the safety of Steve’s apartment. Bruce has never visited Steve’s apartment before, but right now it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. As they gather inside, Bruce opens his mouth, ready to demand a mission report. Steve looks like he’s ready to give a briefing. Barnes cuts him off.

“Bed, all of you.” He says firmly. Before anyone can argue, Bucky and Dick are acting like a well-organized team; herding Clark into Steve’s room to sleep off the aftereffects of the kryptonite bullet and Bruce into Bucky’s room to sleep off the residual fear toxin in his system. Steve is set up on the couch smothered under a massive pile of blankets before he can do anything to injure himself. Satisfied, Bucky offers Dick the reclining chair. With everyone taken care of he makes do with a spot of the rug, the dog curled into his side. It’s not ideal, but he’s slept in worse conditions. He turns out the light and listens as Steve and Dick’s breathing even out before drifting off to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team reunited, it's time to heal.

Bruce starts awake. The first thing he notices is that this is not the king-sized bed of the manor, nor is it the dirty floor of Luthor’s basement. He pushes back a headache as he tries to remember last night. Memories flood his mind. The cellar, Dick, unconscious guards….

He’s in Steve’s apartment. His muscles begin to relax as he realizes that this isn’t just a new way for Luthor to torture him. He’s safe. His _team_ saved him, well tried to at least. Through the haze of broken memories, he knows that honor goes to Dick and Barnes. Bruce’s heart clenches at the thought of Dick anywhere near the basement. That thought leads him to Barnes. Privately, despite all of Clark’s and Steve’s assurances Bruce still feels uneasy at the idea of the Winter Soldier. He doesn’t fully know how to separate the POW war hero and deadly assassin… but Barnes had kept Dick safe. Bruce is willing to overlook a lot for someone who protects his boy.

Putting away thoughts of Barnes, his mind drifts back to Steve and Clark. They risked their lives for him. He never expected that of them, never _asked_ that of them. Yet they had done it anyway, like a real team. Bruce feels a humbleness wash over him. Being a team player is not in his nature, but since adopting Dick he’s found his nature is far more flexible than he had previously thought. Perhaps it’s possible to stretch it a little further to include teamwork.

A cat pounces on his stomach, jolting him from his thoughts. He shoos the little beast away as the smell of bacon wafts into the room. Still with a slight headache, the lingering effects of being drugged for weeks, Bruce drags himself from the bed.

He stops at the edge of the kitchen, still partially hidden in the shadows, and smiles softly to himself. In the next room he can hear Steve talking on the phone, giving the Daily Planet an explanation as to why he and Clark will be out. Dick’s enthusiastic chattering can also be heard as he regales the others with tales of his Gotham exploits. A surge of affection propels Bruce into the kitchen.

~~Barnes~~ Bucky, stands over the stove, fork in hand as he prods the bacon. He looks young with his hair pulled back, clad only in a t-shirt and sleep pants. He hardly looks the part of dangerous assassin that Bruce has always imagined. He looks away, feeling rather sheepish for judging the man without meeting first. He let his emotions get the better of him, a rare mistake.

Bruce pulls his eyes away from Bucky to survey the rest of his rescuers. Clark sits half asleep at the table while Steve is nursing a cup of black sludge-like coffee. Dick is the only one who looks truly awake. His story dies midsentence though as he catches sight of Bruce.

“Bruce! How are you feeling?” Dick asks as Bruce takes a seat at the table. A cup of coffee appears at his elbow.

“Better than I’ve felt in a while.” He admits. He leans over, ruffling Dick’s hair. He can feel Steve and Clark’s smiles from across the table. His stoic Batman reputation is crumbling, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I suppose I owe you all a thank you.” He starts awkwardly, keeping his eyes on Dick. 

“You don’t owe us anything,” Clark says, “This is one of the reasons why we have a team.”

Steve nods in agreement. Bruce opens his mouth and then shuts it, uncertain of what to say. When Clark had first approached him with the Justice League idea he had brushed him off…for months. When he eventually came around, he used it more as an information sharing pool. He had never really considered it a team; had never thought he would need it to fall back on. A thank you is the least of things he should be offering.

“Still, thank you.” He says sincerely. Steve stands up, clapping Bruce’s shoulder, as he passes. He grabs a plate loaded with eggs, and toast, and bacon from Bucky and sets it down in front of Bruce. Bucky sets an equally as large plate in front of Dick.

Bruce tries to repress the warm feeling that rises in his chest as he takes in the cozy domestic scene before him. He’s immensely glad that Clark can’t read minds or he would never hear the end of it. Though judging by the grin tugging at Clark’s face, Clark knows exactly how Bruce is feeling.

Before Clark has the opportunity to tease him, a large dog pads into the room. He sits by Dick’s chair, putting his head in his lap, clearly hoping for a dropped piece of bacon. Bruce blinks, he vaguely remembers the dog from last night.

“Did you bring your dog on a rescue mission?” He asks.

“Of course not,” Bucky scoffs, “We stole the dog on our rescue mission.”

Bruce stares at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. Did Steve ever mention Bucky having bizarre sense of humor? He wracks his brain, but it still feels sluggish from the drugs. Bucky calmly adds more bacon to the frying pan.

“It’s true,” Dick says, “and the dog has super powers.”

Bruce’s brow furrows as he tries to comprehend what Dick just said. They must be joking. He must have missed something while he was still under the effects of fear toxin, and now everyone is having a laugh at his expense.

“My super powers to be exact.” Clark adds sheepishly.

They’re definitely kidding or possibly they’ve been hit with some sort of hallucinogenic gas. Would an altered fear toxin create such a shared hallucination? Worry grips him and he’s about to ask if they were exposed to any noxious gases during the rescue when one of the cats trots into the room. Upon seeing the cat, the dog leaps over the table. No, not leaps, it flies. The mutt continues flying as it chases the poor creature from the kitchen.

“On it.” Clark says taking off after the dog. He drags the beast back in by the scruff of his neck. Bruce can see that despite his super strength Clark is barely restraining the growling monster.

“Bad. Leave the cats alone.” Bucky scolds. The dog stops fighting, flopping down on the linoleum floor, looking properly scolded.

The dog has superpowers. That’s unexpected. Bruce isn’t sure what to do with that information. It’s unusual even by his generous standards.

Bucky scratches the dog behind his ears. Then looks up at Clark. There’s a calculating look in his eyes.

“You know,” Bucky says casually, “this is the dog I was telling you about a few weeks ago.”

Clark hums noncommittally.

“He’s got a great personality once you get to know him,” Bucky says. Clark shoots Steve a ‘save me’ look and Steve hides a smirk behind his cup of coffee.

“And think, with his superpowers you could finally have a pet that can keep up with you.”

Clark sighs and looks down at the dog.

“I’m not getting out of this without a dog, am I?”

“Think of it this way pal, you’d be doing Metropolis a service. We can’t have a dog with super powers running around; he would cause chaos. He needs an owner who can handle him, and that’s you.”

Seeing that Steve will be of no help, Clark gives Bruce a desperate look. Bruce looks back at him evenly before shrugging.

“That makes sense to me. We don’t want the dog to fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce calmly ignores Clark’s glare as he digs into his breakfast. Next to him Dick fails to hold back his grin.

“Fine, I’ll take him.” Clark says. He reaches out and pets the dog, a small smile spreading across his face as the dog leans into his touch.

“What are you going to name him?” Dick asks.

Clark looks at Bucky, lost. Bucky shrugs.

“We never gave him a name.”

“He has a collar.” Steve says.

Clark looks at the tag on the collar. It’s not a name, more like an ID. _KRY-P-T00._

“Krypto,” Clark reads.

“I like it,” Dick says, “because he has kryptonian powers.”

Clark bends down to give the dog a good scratch behind the ears, “what do you think boy? Do you like Krypto better than Spot?”

The dog rolls over.

“I’ll take that as a yes, Krypto it is.”

The conversation quickly shifts to how to best doggy proof ones home and training instructions. Bruce listens idly as he drinks his coffee, letting their voices wash over him and soaking up this moment of peace. He ignores the hopeful looks Dick keeps shooting him every time Bucky mentions one of the other animals at the shelter. Even in this rare state of contentment, he’s still not soft enough to allow his house to become a zoo.

In an effort to divert any more animal talk, Bruce turns to Steve and interrogates him on everything he has missed the past few weeks. Between Steve and Dick he manages to get the whole picture. Rage boils just under his skin as Dick sheepishly admits to offending and stealing from very important board members. Bruce gives him a reassuring smile and silently vows to fire those three first.

As the morning passes by, a restlessness grows in Bruce. He doesn’t like being away from Gotham for long and the hominess of the apartment, so unlike everything he is used to, is beginning to unnerve him. He needs the solitude of the cave to process everything that has happened.

Clark must read something in his face because he begins making noises about needing to go to the pet store to get supplies for Krypto. Bruce jumps at the opportunity to say his goodbyes as well.

“Thank you again,” Bruce says as he and Dick prepare to leave, “I have to go back and see how many board members have been in Luthor’s pocket this whole time and how many are just idiots.”

“Good luck,” Clark says, “and call us if you need us.”

Bruce reaches out and shakes his hand, smiling warmly, “I will.”

~*~*~*~

Two months later, Clark stands on the edge of the Daily Planet roof top as the golden globe spins lazily behind him. A slight thump behind him tells him he’s not alone. He turns and smiles as Bucky and Steve join him on the rooftop.

“Captain, Sarge.” He greets and receives nods in return.

“How is krypto settling in?” Bucky asks and Clark grins, taking the opportunity to launch into the story of Krypto’s first trip to the farm and his first experience interacting with a cow. So engrossed with his story, he almost misses Bruce and Dick’s arrival.

“Captain, Superman, Sarge.” Bruce greets. Dick waves at them with more enthusiasm then his mentor.

“Any news?” Steve asks. Bruce launches into his latest report regarding Poison Ivy and rumors of her seeking out an alliance with Mr. Freeze. Steve and Clark listen intently. Bucky walks the perimeter of the rooftop, keeping a sharp lookout over the city. Metropolis is safe, but old habits die hard He doesn’t bother paying attention to the report; Steve will fill him in on anything important that he’s missed.

A few minutes in, he’s joined by a lighter set of footsteps. He glances down at Dick who peers out over the city skyline, a serious look on his face. Bucky bites back a grin. The pair do a loop around roof in comfortable silence. Bucky glances at Bruce, still deep in conversation with Steve and Clark, and smiles.

“You know,” he says, “the shelter just put a few kittens up for adoption and there’s a real friendly black one with your name on it.”

Dick’s eyes grow wide, and he spins on his heel towards his mentor.

“Holy Feline! Batman, can we get a cat?”

Bruce looks up just long enough to glare at Bucky, who smiles back unconcerned. Maybe he had been too hasty in giving Bucky a chance. The man is a menace.

“We’ll talk about it when we get home.” Bruce says. It’s not a “no.” Dick grins, confident that between him and Bucky, they’ll wear him down. And the manor is more than big enough for a cat or a few. As he completes another loop around the perimeter, Dick thinks this just might be The Justice League’s most successful meeting yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Thanks for reading everyone. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. In the next couple of weeks I should have the first chapter to the third and final story of this series posted!


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